Ricochet
by tromana
Summary: Sparks collide. Jane/Lisbon.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Ricochet**  
Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** Sparks collide.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Mentalist. Artwork is courtesy of my two artists.  
**Notes:** With huge, huge thanks to Miss Peg who beta'd this monster, served as a constant hand holder and was genuinely my life support throughout writing this fic. Thanks also to branquignole and lil smiles for daring to take on such a monster and making fantastic artwork. Final thanks to ch19777 for supplying the original idea. This story is long - and I mean long - but I really hope that people will be willing to take a chance on it.

**Ricochet **

**Chapter One**

Teresa Lisbon sat with her ankles crossed and her hands resting demurely on her lap. She let out a cautious smile when the red light began to blink. They were on the air. This chat show hadn't been her idea; her whole career, even, had been guided by the careful hand of her manager. Every night, she went to sleep, plagued by questions of the moral dubiousness of what she did. In a way, she was desperate to escape it. The problem was _how_. For even now, her father hung around her neck, like a noose that tightened every time she disobeyed him. Lisbon had been brought up to honor her father, and she did. However, the blurred line between family and professionalism caused their relationship to be fractious. She was a grown woman with a family of her own now. Lisbon no longer needed the lingering presence of her father looming over her. But as her manager, he insisted he had every right to stay. On a daily basis he reminded her that she would be nothing without him.

And in truth, he was right. She had more money than she could ever dream of spending, even without her dad's extensive share. Her money was all squirrelled away for a rainy day, something for her to rely upon if things ever got tough. Lisbon was used to the frugal lifestyle; she was used to having nothing at all, especially during the early years on the carnival circuit where, some nights, she was lucky if she had anything to eat at all. Fear of having to return to that kind of situation was what made her save frenetically. She didn't want her daughter to live with nothing; she didn't deserve to go through what her mother had.

The image of her daughter and husband flooded to the forefront of her mind and Lisbon let out her first genuine smile since she had arrived at the recording studios. Her husband supported her wholeheartedly; he understood her dilemma when it came to her career. He knew how it plagued her waking and sleeping thoughts, and didn't try to persuade her or dissuade her in any way. Instead, he just held her hand and let her come up with her own decisions, whatever suited her best. Andrew also knew that she got the most joy out of volunteering her services to the Sac P.D. as it made her feel like she was giving back to the society she was stealing from. However, it was clear that she was also not prepared to cause a familial rift with her father. She was all he had left now and regardless of how much she loathed deceiving people, it was what worked for the both of them.

"Teresa?" a voice called, reminding her of precisely where she was.

"Yes?"

She had entirely missed what was going on. The male presenter reached out and touched her left knee with a consoling smile. His eyes shined with admiration as she flinched at his gentle touch. She couldn't help it; this, in her humble opinion, was the worst part of her job. What she did wasn't miraculous; it was all based in pure science. However, she had everybody else convinced that she was in contact with the dead, a true psychic. In reality, all she did was wordplay, mind games, reading of body language and the like.

"It's okay. We understand," he continued, and grinned that inane smile she hated. "It must be difficult, coming out of the zone."

Lisbon remained mute but nodded in agreement. It was as good an explanation as any and besides, it ensured she appeared professional instead of telling them the simple fact that she'd been daydreaming, and thus revealing the truth behind her skill set.

"Why don't you have a drink of water?" the male presenter continued and Lisbon nodded in response.

Ordinarily, she wasn't the kind of person to accept drinks from strangers; she was far too suspicious for that. However, the drinks had been served by a runner prior to going on air and the jug of water had been served to both her and the two presenters. It was highly unlikely that if she were going to be targeted by somebody, that they would be willing to have two semi-celebrities taken down as by-products too. Lisbon was all too aware of the hazards of her job. The very nature of it meant that, by default, there were often disgruntled customers, relatives or even exes who took an instant dislike to what she told people. But, she reminded herself, she dealt only in the truth and sometimes, the truth hurt. If people weren't too blind to see the truth for themselves, then they wouldn't have to pay somebody else - notably, her - to do it for them.

She took a reluctant sip as she refocused her mind onto the task in hand. That was to get through this interview unscathed with some modicum of dignity. Lisbon hadn't wanted to go through with it; she loathed the limelight, even if she was comfortable enough dealing with people on a one-to-one basis. However, her father had booked it before she had even had a chance to shoot the concept down. He'd insisted it would be good publicity, that they would be able to make enough money to ensure her daughter would have a decent trust fund. And that had been enough to convince her. Her main weakness was her family and Lisbon would walk to the ends of the earth for her only child. Her father knew that all too well and was more than happy to exploit it. Time after time, she had walked into similar situations with her eyes wide open.

She blinked several times, shook her head and then smiled back at the presenters. The vacuous blonde woman breathed a sigh of relief, clearly pleased that her interviewee had finally composed herself enough to continue with said interview. After all, this was going out live and they had a strict schedule to attend to.

"You back with us, Teresa?" she asked genially.

"I am," she confirmed and the woman breathed a sigh of relief.

"She's back in the room," the man confirmed to the avid studio audience, who let out a ripple of applause.

"She's back in the room!" the woman echoed loudly, as if to make sure that everybody was absolutely certain of the fact.

Lisbon swallowed down a smirk. She had never left the room in the first place, but that didn't mean she felt comfortable exposing herself in such a way. Silently, she reminded herself to think of Eva, who would be watching at home with her father. Soon enough, she would be reunited with them. There was only approximately ten minutes of this farce left to endure. The man plunged right in, asking her to explain her supposed skills to the audience. All of it was lies and she hated herself for telling it, but her father had trained her rigorously in the art of deception. Even so, it still came as somewhat of a relief when it seemed they were convinced by what she was telling them. Sooner or later, she swore somebody would see right through her and then, the game would be up. Every time it ended in success, she couldn't help but count her blessings.

Soon enough, the conversation moved onto her voluntary work and for a second, Lisbon panicked. That work was meant to be private, her way of absolving her sins. Nobody was meant to know about the work she did with the Sacramento Police Department. However, she couldn't fault them for having a decent research department, nor did she lie about her involvement. There were only so many lies she could deal with handing out to people. Besides, she could hear her father saying that talking about her philanthropy would only paint her in a better light. Marks always seemed convinced that only _good _people worked for charities, or the like; it was 'money you can't buy' promotion.

"So, Teresa, I hear you've been investigating some really serious cases including, and let me get this right," he paused for dramatic effect before continuing, "Red John?"

"Yes I am," she answered cautiously.

"That has gotta be scary, hasn't it? Chasing down notorious criminals?"

She sighed. People always seemed to have an unusual perception of what she actually did to help law enforcement. It certainly wasn't as glamorous as her day job, but neither was it anywhere near as dangerous as being an actual cop. However, she only met criminals when she was profiling them on very rare occasions. Sac P.D. usually deemed that to be too hazardous; they couldn't risk such an asset as her. Besides, she half suspected they believed if anything happened to her, her father would sue them for all they were worth. The sad truth was she could see him doing just that. He seemed to have no consideration for the fact she was a grown woman now, and a mother herself. Everything he did he claimed he did for her, regardless of whether or not she actually wanted him to do so.

Despite the restrictions that had been put in place, volunteering her services to Sac P.D. had brought her a lot of joy over the past two years. She had always loved a challenge and helping the law enforcement officers to solve the most difficult crimes was about as challenging as it came. They respected her as a person, respected her insights and abilities and were more than happy to have her around too. Considering just how male dominated law enforcement was, that had been a pleasant surprise for her. Then again, she wouldn't have been surprised if the men simply enjoyed having a woman in the workplace either.

"It's fulfilling," she admitted honestly. "And if I can help them, just a little bit..."

Lisbon trailed off but the presenters continued to look at her expectantly. It was clear they wanted to hear more about what she did; they wanted to know precisely what she did with them. They were like a dog with a bone; as interesting as it had been to see her do a supposed 'psychic reading', people were always far more intrigued by the darker side of life. Murder, death, crime, destruction and the like, that was what they wanted to hear about. People had always found that kind of thing far more interesting than the positives. Her trade may have been in dealing false hope, but there had to be some kind of negative in order for her to do it in the first place.

"Tell us some more about Red John," the female presenter urged. "How would you go about dealing with him?"

As she considered the question, Lisbon bit on her lip. She had to be careful with precisely what she said. A lot of what she knew about Red John was confidential. Lisbon was one of very few civilians who had been exposed to the case files, and Detective Elliot had urgently told her that it was under the strictest of confidence. He hadn't been expecting any great revelations from her; they had been working the case for years. All he wanted was her insight to try and help point them in the right direction. That automatically made Lisbon question just how they had known she had worked on Red John at all. She had only told two people herself: her husband and her father.

"I help to profile the criminals, usually from what they leave at the crime scene. That tells you a lot about how they wish to be portrayed and how clever they think they are. Red John takes a lot of pride in his work. The smiley face alone tells you a lot; he thinks he is changing the world and it brings him great pleasure. He has a sense of humor; there's the irony of a smiley face beaming down at the victim..."

"And what about the man behind the smiley face, what is Red John himself like?"

She closed her eyes and years of instructions from her father came flooding back. _Remember, you have to _sell_ the act, Teresa. They think you're a psychic, and you can see into other people's souls and beyond the grave. You can't be clinical when you're with a mark. It's your job to make them _believe _you can see what others cannot. _Instinctively, she shivered slightly. Her father always said she was too blunt, that she needed to make more of a show out of what she did. He always accused her of going straight to the point and reminded her that people were paying for a show, not just the information she imparted._  
_  
"It's a window to his soul. The smiley face, I mean. I look at it and I can see the man that he is and what he wants to be. He's a troubled man, who is haunted by his past. He never had a real father figure or family at all; he's good with his hands, but is embarrassed to speak in public. Like everyone else, he, only wants to be happy, but is shackled to the darkness of his past."

A hushed silence filled the studio as the presenters and audience took on the ramifications of her speech. Eventually, the vacuous blonde woman whispered a hushed 'wow' before the ripple of applause crescendoed to a loud cheer. Lisbon both loved and hated the sound of applause. It would have been foolish of her to deny that she didn't enjoy the ego trip just a little bit. However, as far as she was concerned, it was for all the wrong reasons. What she did wasn't spectacular or impressive. It wasn't a gift from God either. No, anybody could learn to do what she did with a little application and a lot of hard work. Besides, it wasn't as if she were saving lives or creating world peace. Essentially, she was lying and administering false hope. But, false hope was better than none at all.

"Amazing, I'm amazed," the female presenter eventually breathed once the audience had quieted down.

"She's amazed, we're all amazed," the man concurred and Lisbon smiled briefly in response. "I don't know how you do it."

She shrugged her shoulders slightly, but that only succeeded in endearing her to the interviewers further. At least she knew that this farce was nearly over. Then, she could go home and help put her daughter to bed. She'd promised Eva she would be there and Lisbon hated letting her little girl down. Her father seemed only to know how to use her, and from the moment she had discovered she was pregnant, Lisbon had promised to never treat her child like a meal ticket.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Teresa Lisbon," the man continued, before changing the subject. "And after the break, we have the man who owns a cat who detects seizures. Which, I'm sure will be absolutely fascinating. Make sure you stick with us to check it out."

The forced smiles of both presenters stopped the moment that the blinking red light switched off. Makeup artists quickly descended to give them both touch ups, ready for the next segment. Part of Lisbon doubted that either of them had genuinely found her skills fascinating, and the supposed seizure cat that was coming up next even less so. Still, she was free to leave and that was the main thing. She rose to her feet and made three steps away before somebody called her name.

"Teresa, wait!"

It was the blonde woman. She almost tripped over her heels in her haste, but Lisbon ignored that. Instead, she turned around to regard the woman properly, unimpressed by the delay. Despite having just been interviewed by this vacuous blonde, she didn't even remember her name. She didn't care; this woman was a cardboard cutout presenter; they were all the same. The woman held that same hopeful expression that all of her clients had in their eyes, though. Will you help me; can you really talk to my deceased loved one and help me get closure or tell if my husband is cheating on me?

"How may I help you," she paused for a second, as she fought her way to remembering this woman's name, "Alexa?"

"I don't have long," she started haltingly, "the ad break is nearly over..."

"Then you better make it quick," Lisbon retorted, more snappishly than she would have liked.

"It's my husband; he's been distant and moody. And I found a set of lingerie, but it wasn't in my size..."

"You think he's having an affair?"

"Yes!" Alexa said, relieved that Lisbon had cut to the bone of the matter swiftly. "Your manager said you would be able to tell for certain? I can pay you..."

"Book an appointment and I'll see what I can do," Lisbon instructed firmly.

"I'll pay you double if you do it after today's show."

"But..."

"Triple, in cash," she added determinedly, cutting Lisbon off as she did so. "Please, Teresa, I can't keep living a lie; I need to know the truth."

Already, she could hear her father begging her to take the money and run. He would have been _proud _about how her apparent reluctance had driven up the going price, even though that had never been Lisbon's intention. As far as she was concerned, her fees were already extortionate and being paid triple that was just ridiculous. And yet, it would provide her with an ideal excuse to supplement Eva's trust fund. But she also wouldn't have the chance to investigate Alexa, or her husband thoroughly. She hated meeting with a client without being fully prepared. It made her feel nervous that somebody might see straight through her fragile façade.

Alexa battered her doe eyes at her, and before she had a chance to object, Lisbon found herself agreeing to it. She told herself that she would have been a fool not to, and besides it wouldn't take all that long. The woman already seemed to know deep down that her husband was a cheat. All she was looking for was confirmation from an external and impartial source. Lisbon knew she would still be able to get home to her daughter in time, even if it would make it more rushed than she would have liked. That was provided that the traffic didn't slow her down, of course.

"Thank you, thank you," the woman breathed. The producer was going crazy in the corner, and Lisbon knew their time was up. "Wait in my dressing room; use my laptop if you get bored. I don't mind."

Lisbon watched as the woman took her seat on the couch. From the moment that she was seated beside her co-presenter once more, she was all smiles. Then, Lisbon was ushered away by a runner and now, she had to play the waiting game. At least, she surmised, she had been given free access to the Internet. She didn't have to be quite as unprepared as she originally anticipated. Immediately, she installed herself in the room and pulled the laptop onto her lap. All things considered, Alexa was being incredibly trusting. It also provided Lisbon with access to many documents to help her cause.

Even so, Lisbon still found herself growing impatient, waiting for this woman to turn up. Her eyes continually strayed to the clock on the wall, and simultaneously, time seemed to be slowing down and speeding up. Her heart sank as yet another hour passed by, and her hopes of seeing Eva before bedtime slowly but surely diminished into nothingness. Vaguely, she wondered what the holdup had been. Just after her interview, there had been only approximately one hour left of the show. Besides, Alexa had seemed incredibly keen to go through with this. Why was she causing such a delay? Lisbon's heart sank; she should never have agreed to do this private reading at such short notice. She checked her cellphone for what felt like the umpteenth time, but Andrew hadn't responded. Maybe he was mad at her for changing plans at such short notice? Or maybe, he was just annoyed that she hadn't consulted him before making this booking? No, this was Andrew. He understood her and her idiosyncrasies; he'd grown up with her, he was her best friend and confidante as well as her husband. It was far more likely that he was either too distracted by Eva to reply, or he'd simply let his phone run out of battery.

She was about to consider calling him when Alexa shambled through the door. Swiftly, Lisbon shut down the laptop and smiled genially at the woman. The woman nodded at her briefly, tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, but only after she had given it a good brushing. Then, she cleaned her teeth, took a long drink of something almost neon colored, Lisbon surmised that this was some kind of energy drink, and it was only then that she took a seat opposite her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for the delay," Alexa said, speaking quickly. "You know what it's like."

Lisbon didn't answer. Instead, she merely nodded gently in her direction. Of course, she didn't know exactly what it was like to work in television. In fact, this had been her first interview. Her father had said that it would hopefully lead to 'bigger and better' things. She suspected that he meant famous clientele, her own television show, or preferably, both. But she could live without any of those things. In fact, if it wasn't for him, she would give up the fake psychic business tomorrow and happily go on and live in obscurity.

"Can you really do this?" the woman continued, staring intently. "You don't seem the _type_."

"How so?" Lisbon asked; covering up the hint of concern in her voice.

"You're not showy. Ostentatious, not like the other psychics I've consulted."

"I like to get straight to the point," she explained, hoping that would be enough to sate the woman's curiosity.

"I think that sounds like it's for the best. All the other stuff, the scented candles, the drapes, the ominous low voice, I think it's to hide something," Alexa glanced over her shoulder, as if she was concerned that somebody was listening into her revelation. "I think they're faking it, that they're not real psychics."

"I couldn't possibly say…"

In truth, Lisbon agreed with her entirely. Out of all the other people in 'the business', she had never once met a true psychic. Like her, they had all used other skills in order to deceive naïve people out of their cash. That didn't necessarily mean she didn't believe in the potential of there being somebody gifted with those skills. It just meant that she thought they were incredibly rare, and unlike the charlatans much like herself who paraded their supposed gifts, they kept themselves well-hidden, away from the prying eyes of others.

The reading didn't take especially long to do. As she promised, she got directly to the crux of the matter and 'read' Alexa's mind, and her husband's thoughts too. She confirmed the woman's belief, and after a tearful exchange, she handed over the money, in cash as promised. Before she left, Alexa thanked her effusively for helping to reveal the truth to her. Now that she knew her husband was a liar and a cheat, she was going to hand over those divorce papers, just like the 'scumbag' deserved. Apparently, after she had managed to stop crying, she felt liberated and free. She was ready to take control of her life once more.

In a way, Lisbon was almost jealous. For all of her life, she had been under the controlling thumb of somebody else and still, she couldn't see the way to escape. Maybe one day, she would be able to live life in the way that she wanted to. Maybe, she would have been able to offer her services to Sac P.D. full time or maybe, another one of the law enforcement agencies, if they were more willing to pay. But that all depended on when her father would no longer need her. Lisbon knew, deep down, that that would only happen when he passed on. As she sat in her SUV, she clutched hold of her cross pendant – the one thing of her mother's that she owned – and offered a silent prayer of forgiveness. She didn't wish ill of her father, she just wanted to be her own woman for a change.

With a slightly heavy heart, she made her way back to Malibu, where the family lived. She loved living near the sea, and she knew that it was a wonderful place for Eva to grow up. Lisbon appreciated the stability of having a family home; it was a luxury she had never been afforded as a child. Instead, she had been forced to endure living in a cramped caravan with her tyrant father for company. It was little wonder she had turned to God during stressful situations, much to his disgust. Lisbon knew her mother had been a deeply pious woman though, and she hoped that she would have been proud of what she had become. Part of her sincerely doubted that though, and it always made her moral dilemmas feel all the worse.

When she finally pulled up on the drive of the family home, all the lights were off. Lisbon frowned; that was very unlike Andrew. Normally, if she was working late – especially if she hadn't given him much or any forewarning for it – he insisted upon staying up until she was back home safe. He always claimed that if he didn't, he worried far too much to be able to sleep at any rate. Therefore, there was no point in even trying. In silence, she killed the engine, slipped out of the car and silently opened the door. Quietly, she made her way through the home, dumping her bag on the couch and then rifled through the mail. When she confirmed there was nothing of interest, she made her way to the kitchen, pushing Eva's tricycle away as she did so, and then had a drink of water. Had Andrew been up, she may have suggested a cup of tea, or decaffeinated coffee, perhaps. Still, she couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't around.

She shivered slightly when she started to make her way upstairs. The situation had an innate sense of wrongness about it. Automatically, Lisbon tried to push it to the back of her mind. It was ludicrous; she was being overly concerned and for no justifiable reason. She knew that Eva was still trying to throw off a head cold, and Andrew had probably caught it off of her. He had probably tried to stay up and wait for her, but grown too tired and eventually given up. A smile toyed across her face as she imagined her husband and daughter curled up together in bed.

The smile faltered when she noticed a piece of paper attached to the door of the master bedroom. Nervously, she closed the distance between herself and the door. The piece of paper was folded over once to conceal the contents. On the outside, it simple stated 'Dear Ms. Lisbon…' Intrigued, she pulled it off of the door opened it up and began to read.

"_Dear Ms. Lisbon,_

_I do not like to be slandered in the media, especially by a dirty money-grabbing fraud.  
If you were a real psychic instead of a dishonest little worm, you wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've done to your dear husband and child."_

It was signed off by an all-too-familiar red smiley face.

With her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest, Lisbon gently pushed open the door. The first thing she saw was another smiley face, this time, painted in blood. Then, she glanced down onto the king size bed she and her husband shared almost every single night.

It was at that moment that her whole world was turned upside down.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay.

Thanks to: Jane Doe51, Guest, Dodge1989, wickyvicky and kathiann for reviewing chapter one.

x tromana

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"Teresa, are you okay?"

She shook her head slightly, turned to face her superior, Patrick Jane, and smiled weakly. Was she okay? Not particularly. But then, she wasn't inclined to tell him the whole truth anyway. Patrick Jane was a loose cannon; in a way, he reminded her of her father. Therefore, she had long since decided that he was not to be trusted. Besides, after one year of working in close quarters with him, she was already seriously questioning how he had managed to keep his job for so long. To describe him as a maverick felt like a gross simplification. He seemed to live his life with reckless abandon and applied that to work as well.

In reality, she knew the answer. He closed cases and looked good while doing it. Patrick Jane was the ideal poster boy for the CBI. Men wanted to be him, women wanted to be with him. He carried his damaged intensity, scars from his troubled childhood, well, and it only added to the allure. She had been brought on in order to improve the closed case record, as well as provide a calming presence towards the almost insane senior agent. Lisbon wasn't particularly sure if she was doing a good job or not. If she was, then she dreaded to know what he had been like _before_ she had joined the CBI. She could only imagine a walking disaster, and it only reiterated her questions about how and why he had been successful as a cop.

"I'm fine."

"You're lying," he replied.

"And this isn't Red John," she retorted, keen to change the subject. "Are we done here?"

Rigsby and Cho both glanced away, but Van Pelt looked shocked by her abrupt nature. She made for the door to the master bedroom; she didn't want to stay near the dead body for much longer. Unlike many consultants, Lisbon understood the importance of forensic evidence. Often, it would be the lynchpin in a court case, but it disappeared relatively quickly. They needed to let the forensics guys get on with their job in peace, while they went and dealt with the family and the like. It was then that she really came into her own; there was only so much she could work out from cold reading a dead body. Living people, with fluctuating emotions and reactions were another matter entirely. And besides, it was statistically far more likely that this woman had been brutally murdered by one of her closest relatives rather than Red John.

"How do you know?" Grace Van Pelt asked quietly. "That it isn't Red John, I mean."

At least one of them had bothered to ask the question. Van Pelt looked at her hopefully; she was very keen to learn about Lisbon and her mindset. It almost made her feel uncomfortable; Van Pelt was the kind of woman her father would have insisted she targeted three years ago. Grace Van Pelt was hopelessly naïve, with a strong sense of belief in the 'other realm', an incredibly open mind and all too easily impressed. It would have been easy for her to persuade Van Pelt that she was truly a psychic; in fact, if the new rookie had done her research before joining, she would probably think she actually was one anyway.

Jane shot her the 'I'm waiting' look, the one which she knew demanded answers and fast. Sometimes, it felt like she gave him the answers so he could come up with the crackpot plan to shoot down the criminal. They closed cases, and that pleased Virgil Minelli, Jane's supervisor. However, sometimes, it made Lisbon feel more than a little uncomfortable. When Jane came up with a plan, he usually thought outside of the box. Minelli claimed this was 'forward thinking' and it 'brought in a new era of fighting crime'. Lisbon, meanwhile, saw all the potential loopholes where Jane could hang himself from. Whenever they got a case through the courts, it seemed like nothing short of a miracle.

"The cutting style is all wrong. Red John is an artist; every cut means _something_ to him. This?" she said, and she waved a hand in the general direction of the deceased. "It's like an amateur trying to recreate a Van Gogh."

"Oh," Van Pelt answered, sounding very small, like she had asked a stupid question. She hadn't; it was just a case of what was obvious to Lisbon, and Jane to a lesser extent, was less so to everybody else.

"And the smiley face is painted on the wrong wall. It doesn't play out nearly so well, don't you think?"

"He's broken M.O. before; he could've just done it again?" Rigsby suggested.

Lisbon flinched. She knew all too well that Rigsby was referencing her husband and daughter's death. Ordinarily, Red John exclusively killed women, between the ages of twenty and thirty. Generally, he struck in the dead of the night. He never applied his sexual fantasies to his victims; instead, he got his thrills from brutally murdering them. The smiley face on the wall was always painted prior to the final, fatal, blow. That way, they died with the fear and knowledge that Red John was the one responsible for their untimely demise. When Andrew and Eva Lisbon had been killed, it had been Red John's first double murder since Carter and Janet Peakes. It had also been the first murder where an innocent child had been killed. For a long while, the cops had been unsure whether or not the murder had actually been associated with Red John. However, Lisbon knew exactly why he had changed his modus operandi: if you wanted to hurt somebody, you didn't kill them. You killed their family instead.

And naturally, she was still hurting from the blow. She still blamed herself for their deaths. She still wanted to set everything right, but doubted she ever would.

"You see the smiley face, then you see the body. It makes sense," Jane added. "Cho, Rigsby, I want you to check up on that using footage from previous crime scenes. If Lisbon's right, we have ourselves a copycat."

"I am right," she asserted. "And if we don't keep this quiet, we'll probably have an actual Red John case on our hands, too."

"And why do you think that?"

"He doesn't like slander. He sees himself as unique. A poor facsimile such as this will make him _furious_."

"Guess we'll have to close this one quickly then, won't we?"

"Yes, boss," she muttered.

Sometimes, it felt ironic calling Patrick Jane her boss. Technically, of course, he was, but that didn't mean it necessarily felt right. He was so out of control himself, it was a wonder that he could keep control of three younger agents and a consultant driven by revenge as well. Considering everything she had been through, Lisbon believed she still managed to retain more of her sense of sanity than Jane ever would. Silently, she reminded herself that he got the job done. He went into dangerous situations armed with little more than a gun, and helped to bring justice to the world. If that wasn't an honorable calling, then what was? It wasn't her place to judge his methodology; instead, she was hired to assist him in any way that she could.

In silence, they headed towards the base camp, which they had set up in Malibu for the duration of the case. The commute back and forth to Sacramento just wasn't practical when the crime scene was based this far afield. Lisbon knew that the others had booked to stay in a motel, and they'd been kind enough to ensure that she had a room there too. However, she had already promised herself that she would stay at home. It made her feel that little bit closer to Andrew and Eva that way. Silently, she hoped, wished they were at peace, but in actuality, she doubted they ever would be until Red John had been apprehended. And that was why she had volunteered her services to the CBI specifically. To bring peace to her soul, as well as having the vain hope that she could bury her family mentally as well as physically.

Even though she had already established that Red John wasn't responsible for the death of Sally Hughes, she couldn't help but feel like it had reopened old wounds. Jane, who had been suspended due to a misdemeanor on a previous case, had been brought back the moment the fake Red John smiley face had been discovered. But Jane wasn't her problem; she could get along working with him just as well as without him. In truth, sometimes, he made it a little easier because he was intuitive for a cop and seemed to grasp hold of her theories easily. No, she had panicked internally when she had heard that Red John had killed again so close to her family home. It made her instantly remember that fateful day, doing a reading for that insufferable presenter, Alexa, being late home to put Eva to bed. She could remember the creak of the third to last step on the staircase, where she first noticed that dreadful note.

And she could remember thinking: _I could have, _should have_, been able to stop this._

Holding back murder sometimes felt like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a broom. At face value, murder felt senseless, pointless and innately wrong. Fighting against it was like fighting a losing battle; one where you could never win. The patterns underneath it, the motives and reasoning, the money, the jealousy, the deceit and lies which killers couldn't cover up forever, that was how a crime was inevitably solved. Answers helped, Lisbon would never have denied that. However, it didn't ever stop it from feeling like a waste of a life. It didn't ever stop the families and friends of the victims from hurting because their loved one was taken away from them far too soon. It never got rid of the pain. That, she knew from very personal experience.

"You're quiet today," Jane remarked as he drove them (too fast) to the motel. The others were in another car, which gave them a little privacy to speak more freely.

"Just thinking," she answered back stiffly.

"About Red John?"

"Partially." It wasn't a lie; there were other things on her mind as well.

"We'll get him one day."

"Maybe," she answered; clearly she felt far more cautious about the subject than he did.

Then again, she had to wonder precisely why he was almost as driven to close the Red John case as she was. It was true that any murder was 'too many', but why did he so desperately want to get Red John behind bars, or better yet, dead? Besides being a serial killer, what separated him from all the other murderers they sought out? What made him special to Jane specifically? Everybody knew Lisbon's motives as clear as day; she wanted to catch the killer responsible for the deaths of her family. He was the man who had apparently driven her father to suicide, though they were yet to find the body. Jason Hamilton was missing, presumed dead and nobody was bothering to investigate either way. Of course, Jane had an equally tragic past, of which Lisbon had only figured out a few of the minor details thus far, but the connections between that and Red John seemed illogical.

But then, did a senior agent, who led the Serious Crimes Unit for the California Bureau of Investigation, really need a precise reason to want a serial killer dead? Surely the job title alone was enough of a motive for that? Of course, it wasn't revenge driven, or any of the other motives that death eventually boiled down to, it was more honorable than that. But just because there was honor behind the feelings, it didn't stop the resolution from being ultimately, the same. And if any brutal murderer deserved to rot behind bars, or be killed, it was Red John. Even Lisbon's beliefs couldn't prevent her from seeing that.

However, right now, Red John wasn't their problem. If they didn't find the man (or woman) responsible for Sally Hughes' death as soon as feasibly possible, then she didn't doubt that he would become their problem. A killer with the hubris of Red John would never stand for somebody recklessly copying his style like this. At least Jane understood the urgency for the closure of this case, even if the rest of the team were more dubious. But then, she had only really worked with Jane until very recently. And Grace Van Pelt had literally just started with the unit two days ago. It was understandable that they had more than a little apprehension when it came to her and her skills; they hadn't had the chance to truly make sense of them yet.

Jane took the scenic route back to the Malibu P.D. headquarters. Lisbon suspected that it was in the vain hope of trying to get her to talk again, but she wasn't especially in the mood to discuss anything beyond the case. Malibu held too many bittersweet memories for her; the ghosts of the past walked the sidewalks and clung to the air. Every corner held a new demon for her to endure. Jane had run away from his past; he originally hailed from Chicago, Illinois, and he came to California so he didn't have to face this kind of thing too often. She couldn't blame him for that; many people had advised her to do the exact same thing. Unfinished business, namely Red John, had stopped her from leaving. Maybe things would be different one day. Maybe the crushing pain she felt during every waking moment would eventually dissipate.

When they arrived, Rigsby and Cho were huddled around a laptop, looking at the footage from various Red John crime scenes, just as instructed. A frown was deeply etched between Rigsby's brows as he concentrated on the task in hand. The somber expression on Cho's face suggested that they had finally realized that she was right; this wasn't Red John. Of course, that meant they now had to discover who was responsible and it somewhat set them back to square one.

This spurred Jane into action. Knowing it wasn't Red John for certain suddenly made the murderer seem far more accessible. Red John didn't make mistakes, but the person responsible for this death had already made several. Most notably, deciding to attempt to mimic Red John in the first place. Before Lisbon even had a chance to really think, Jane had whisked her off to the relatives' home in order to go and interview the relatives. Then, she could hardly fault the logic; if she were in charge, then she would have taken that step too. Van Pelt came with them; she needed to learn all aspects of the job and fast. However, that wasn't enough to stop Jane from pressing into her about her frosty demeanor.

"You hate being here, don't you?" Jane said quietly.

"Yes and no."

"One day, you'll be able to remember them in a more positive light."

"Do you?" she countered.

At that, Jane returned his attentions to the road ahead of them and that alone gave her an answer. Jane was still haunted by his past despite the fact it had happened over twenty years ago, in a different state entirely. It had colored who he was as a person and nothing could change that. He may have tried to bury it in the past, and sometimes, he was able to remember the happy times. However, that wasn't enough to stop the darker side of his childhood from haunting his dreams. Lisbon had seen the reports online; his mother had died when he was twelve, his father when he was sixteen. Jane hadn't opened up about the intervening years and she suspected that was what troubled him the most. But she didn't expect him to either; they were work colleagues, nothing more and nothing less.

The moment they arrived at the Hughes family residence, Grace Van Pelt practically flew out of the car. It was as if she couldn't stand the tension that was simmering in the air any longer. Lisbon agreed with her sentiment; there were times, like this, when she wished that Jane would just let her get on with her job instead of trying to make sense of what was going on in her head. He knew her motives for being here and surely, that should have been enough. As they waited patiently on the doorstep, Jane reached out and placed a gentle hand on her left shoulder. Lisbon flinched at the touch and then promptly threw it off. Then, somebody answered the door and it was time to get on with work.

The person who answered the door was a nine year old boy with a runny nose, with his thumb firmly attached to his mouth. Clearly, he was off sick from school and it broke Lisbon's heart a little. In a dank motel, not far from here, his mother met her death. Now, he was going to have to grow up without his mother - and who could say how it would affect the father too?

"Hello, is your daddy home?" Jane asked gently.

The boy stopped sucking his thumb for a second, nodded, and then he called for his dad. After five minutes, a man wearing a lab coat, with scientific goggles propped on his forehead appeared at the door. Immediately, Lisbon knew this man was a tinkerer; somewhere in the basement, he carried out madcap experiments and tried to be the scientist he'd dreamed about being as a kid. He was about to apologize and explain his tardiness when he seemed to take note of the badges attached to both Patrick Jane's and Grace Van Pelt's belts. Then, his face crumpled for half a second, but he shook his head and resisted the temptation to burst into tears.

Instead, he ushered them into a spacious lounge, littered by a few of his son's toys. Mr. Benjamin Hughesmade a lame attempt to pick them up before giving up and taking a seat opposite Lisbon. Jane, meanwhile, started pacing around the room, paying attention to the couple's belongings instead of turning his attentions to the grieving widower. He always did this; he claimed it gave him a feel for the inhabitants and their relationships. Lisbon found a cursory glance was usually more than enough; reading _people_ was her specialty.

"It's my Sally, isn't it?" he murmured, his face growing increasingly pale. "She's been found dead, hasn't she?"

Lisbon nodded; it seemed like Jane was happy enough for her to take the lead in this interview. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"No you're not," he snapped suddenly. "You do this every day; if people weren't killed, you wouldn't have a job, would you, Agent er..."

"My name is Teresa Lisbon; I'm not an agent, I consult on various crimes for the CBI. Grace Van Pelt and Patrick Jane, they are the agents."

"Oh. So why are _you_ here?" he asked, staring pointedly at her.

"Because I know what it's like to live without answers. I know what it's like to suffer from that sense of loss and despair, with no light at the end of the tunnel and I don't want you to feel the way that I do every day and every night."

This seemed to mollify the man slightly. Lisbon knew that people reacted to the death of their loved ones in vastly different ways. Hughes had chosen to lash out at the nearest person, to be angry because there was nothing he could do about it. She looked him square in the eye and took a gentle hold of his wrist. There had to be a reason why he was especially angry about it and it was her job to find out why.

"Tell us about your wife," she asked gently. "Don't pull away," she added when he tried to take his hand back from her grasp.

"What kind of weirdo is this woman? Why does she need to hold onto me?" the man demanded, directing his questions straight at Jane this time around.

"Ms. Lisbon brings a unique insight into our investigations. If anyone will be able to figure out who killed your wife, and fast, it's her. Listen to her and do what she says. Trust me on this."

Clearly still unconvinced, Ben Hughes gave a short sharp nod before returning his attention to Lisbon. Then, he finally answered the question and several more that she asked him afterwards. With some trepidation, he answered each and every one, much to her relief. In the end, she had a clear picture painted about this man and the relationship he had shared with his deceased wife.

"How long have you and Sally been suffering from marital strife?" she asked and it was at that moment where Ben Hughes decided he'd had enough.

"Excuse me?"

"Answer the question, please," Jane said absent-mindedly as he looked at the photograph of their son with some interest.

"What marriage doesn't have problems?" he countered, avoiding a direct answer.

"True, but how long have you been seeking help for it?" Lisbon clarified.

"Three months."

"Thank you," she replied.

"We'll need the details of your marriage counselor, then," Jane said as he finally joined her by the couch.

"Is that all?"

"For now," Jane answered smoothly. "Thank you for your time. We'll let ourselves out."

After updating Rigsby and Cho in a conference call and instructing them to interview the woman's boss, Jane drove Lisbon and Van Pelt to the marriage counseling clinic. Once again, they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Lisbon was still deeply concerned about the Red John connotations in the case. She knew what it was like to be burned by the serial killer. And if Red John discovered this copycat, then she could easily see this spiraling into a never ending cycle of death. Violence didn't end violence; it extended it. That wasn't to say she was necessarily against corporal punishment - or the death penalty in extreme cases - the problem was when people took it into their own hands. Or believed they had a right to hurt the people who hurt them. It caused a never ending circle of pain.

And from what she knew about Red John, he did precisely that. The image of her husband and daughter - with her toenails painted in her own a blood; a touch of delicacy reserved just for her - flooded to the forefront of her mind. This had to stop; _Red John_ had to be stopped. They were dancing on a dangerous knife edge right now. But first, this case had to be solved before everything got completely out of control.

The building was all sleek white lines, with baskets of fuchsias hanging around the door. The elegant sign was marred by the all too cheerful slogan of 'bringing you back to you', which made Lisbon instinctively skeptical. She was already very suspicious of counselors and psychiatrists by default. The whole of the United States was made up of corporations and it just made her question the motives of these so-called medics. Like everyone else, they were out for a profit and she half-suspected that they tried to get their patients reliant on the therapy. Even so, the Hughes' therapist - and also, the owner of the clinic - had been gracious enough to spare the time for the interview.

They were quickly chaperoned to the office where the meeting was to be held. Briefly, Lisbon stopped to scan the books held in the shelving unit; you could tell a lot about a person from their book collection. Jane stood beside her, and he selected a tome on notorious serial killers based in California. Without needing to look as closely as Jane was, Lisbon could tell it had been thumbed through on a regular basis. At first it seemed a little random; why would a marriage counselor need a book on serial killers? However, it did make sense: serial killers often had the most extreme of personalities and occasionally suffered from serious mental disorders. It was probably perfect research for her line of work. Dr. Simone Wyatt swept into the room with a flurry of scarves moments after they both took a seat beside Van Pelt. With a megawatt grin, she sat down in front of them, laced her fingers together and leaned forwards. Before any of them had a chance to speak, Wyatt shook her head dramatically, clicked her tongue and spoke herself.

"_Such_ a tragedy. They were such a sweet couple and they were doing so well in therapy. In just three months, they had made some _major_ breakthroughs," she said with a heavy sigh. "And all that work, undone. Their _poor_ son, too..."

"So you knew the couple well then?" Lisbon asked.

"Oh, very," Wyatt enthused and laced her fingers together as she spoke. "They told me all their intimate details. I have such a trusting relationship with my clientele."

"And did either of them suffer from paranoia, a fear of being killed?"

"Confidentiality, my dears. I wish I could tell you, but..."

She shook her head dramatically. Lisbon frowned and Jane just smiled.

"A little redundant, don't you think, if the client is dead," Jane remarked lightly. "You can't offend them beyond the grave."

"Ah, but you shouldn't speak ill of the dead, either."

"If you won't tell us willingly, we will find another way to get the information," he answered back, his tone low.

"Are you threatening me, Agent Jane?"

"Getting a warrant, charging you with obstruction." He listed them on his fingers as he brought them up. "There are plenty of _legal_ methods to get what we need."

"Yes. Sally Hughes did suffer from a very mild form of paranoia. _Very_ mild," she stressed when she eventually relented. "She thought the cleaner at her workplace was stalking her."

"Thank you."

"Will that be all?"

"Not quite," Lisbon interrupted quietly. "Have you heard of the serial killer, Red John?"

The woman glanced out of the window before returning her attention to Lisbon and the two agents sitting in front of her. She ran her right hand through her thick curly red hair and then shook her head. Then, a look of seriousness crossed her features, almost as if her every reaction to this specific line of questioning had been pre-planned.

"No, I can't say that I have. Now I really must go or I will be late for my seven-thirty."

"One more question," Jane said smoothly as he stood to shake the woman's hand. "You don't just do marriage counseling, do you?"

"I specialize in it, but no, I don't just offer marriage counseling as a part of my services. Any particular reason you have an interest in that?"

"Just intrigued," Jane answered with a bright smile. "Thank you for your time."

With plans to talk to the supposed stalker in the morning, they met up with Rigsby and Cho for dinner. Over lobster, Lisbon observed the interactions between Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van Pelt with considerable interest. It was well-established that fraternization within units was strictly against the rules, but it was obvious that Rigsby was sexually attracted to the new rookie. Silently, she made note to advise Rigsby not to go there in private; she got the impression that Jane and Cho wouldn't care either way so long as the job got done. However, that didn't mean the brass would be quite so lenient on them. She liked Rigsby; he was solid, hard-working and dependable. Lisbon didn't want him to lose his job over something easily avoidable. And this was Grace Van Pelt's big break; she didn't deserve to have it screwed up by an over-zealous colleague.

When everybody disappeared back to the hotel, Lisbon hailed a cab to go back to her family home. She didn't bother telling them where she was going; it was none of their business. This was a private place for her - almost a sacred spot - she didn't want any of the others here. Besides, she wanted to offer up a silent prayer, alone, for her deceased family. Lisbon didn't know if it would do any good; all she could do was hope that God would forgive her for her sins and allow her family to rest in peace.

After a few silent prayers in the master bedroom, Lisbon padded downstairs barefoot. Automatically, she headed towards the kitchen which only had a few basics left in it, including a coffee machine. With a sigh, she switched the machine on, topped it up with coffee beans and hot water and fetched the mug her daughter had bought her for her last mother's day. Vaguely, she thought she heard a car pull up outside, but she disregarded it. Then, she filled her mug and took a few tentative sips. The coffee was old and past its best, but it was better than nothing.

It was then that she heard a series of loud knocks, first on the window in the lounge and then on the front door.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** With massive thanks to Frogster, Jane Doe51, Guest, rpicard06, AprilVV, kathiann and phoenixx87 for reviewing chapter two. A lot of blood, sweat and tears went into creating this story so any support is very much appreciated. I love hearing your comments on this story especially as it is so important to me.

x tromana

* * *

**Chapter Three**

She was stunned to see Jane standing on her doorstep, with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He eyed her seriously and Lisbon found herself having to resist the temptation to sigh heavily. She should have known that Jane would have followed her home. The man had no sense of boundaries and respect. Even if she had told him that she needed a little personal time, he would still have managed to find a reason to disregard her request and interfere. Usually, that request hinged upon the reason of him 'needing her help' regardless of whether or not he actually did. And inevitably, her sense of righteousness meant that she gave into him. Along with Red John, doing her job and doing it well was her driving force now. She didn't have a family to strive for any longer, and thus, her self-worth laid purely in her ability to solve crimes. It seemed like Jane interfering and wreaking havoc was just the way he was hard wired and there was nothing she could do to stop it. It was just like she had to work in order to distract herself from the tragedy in her life.

"Jane? What the hell are you doing here?"

Without a word, he brushed past her and walked straight into the house. She watched as he took in each of the rooms one by one; they were scantly furnished and dirty from years of dust and grime building up. Lisbon didn't feel ashamed by the state of her property; she didn't live here full time anymore and thus, she felt no need to put the effort into maintenance. She didn't dare rent out the property either, for fear of what clientele it might attract and in a way, she still felt the need to cling onto it. Besides, it all seemed so futile. You were born, you worked, and you died. Why waste time on things that were just going to be undone in the long run?

"Oh yes, Jane. Please, be my guest. Make yourself at home," she muttered angrily.

"Teresa, you can't live like this."

There was a deep dark look of concern hidden behind his eyes, but Lisbon couldn't help but note the hypocrisy. Jane didn't own his own place; instead, he chose to live in extended stay motels or occasionally, the attic of the CBI. Some called it dedication to the job. Lisbon believed it was a more deep-rooted issue, something to do with his past. He couldn't risk settling down out of a fear that one day it might all have been taken away from him. The fear was well-justified, of course. Even after just one year of working with Patrick Jane, he had nearly gotten himself killed on several occasions. If it hadn't been for Rigsby, Cho and even herself on occasion, then Jane might not have been here at all. One day, she swore, his recklessness would cost the life of himself or somebody close to him, but Jane just couldn't seem to see that.

In silence, she led him through to the kitchen. She knew she had a teapot somewhere and some old Ceylon tea that Andrew had favored when he'd been alive. Part of her felt like she was betraying her husband by offering it to Jane, but equally, she knew that she was only going to throw it away eventually. There was little point in it going to waste out of some sort of misplaced loyalty to her deceased husband. In silence, she prepared his tea, intrinsically aware of Jane's eyes watching her each and every move. When she handed him over the mug, he quietly thanked her and then she took a sip of her own cooling coffee. Lisbon knew she had to explain to Jane that she was perfectly sane, that she wasn't punishing herself for the death of her family. She did ensure she lived moderately well, mostly off of her income from the CBI. It paid enough for everything else and thus, her years of savings mostly went untouched.

"I don't stay here often, Jane," she explained and he still looked skeptical. "I sold most of the furniture. The things I couldn't bear to let go of all fit inside a small box, which is in my home in Sacramento."

It was the truth. After years of deception, Lisbon could no longer bring herself to tell lies, unless it was strictly necessary. When she had gained employment with the CBI, her Malibu home had become mostly irrelevant, and thus, she had decided to get rid of most of her belongings. Jane nodded slowly, but she still wasn't entirely sure if he believed her. But then, it was his prerogative whether or not he did so. Lisbon knew that she wasn't lying, and that was the main thing.

"You kept hold of the house as one of your remaining connections to your family?"

"Yes," Lisbon confirmed; there was little point in her lying to her boss. "I come here occasionally for reflection. Maybe one day I'll be ready to let it go, but not yet."

"Right," Jane answered back.

Once again, they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Lisbon regretted getting rid of virtually all of the furniture in her home now; she couldn't even offer Jane a place to sit. But still, considering the amount of time she actually spent here, it felt like a waste just keeping it. Selling the stuff and ensuring it was used, and then donating the money raised to bereavement charities had helped her considerably.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, Teresa," Jane said suddenly, and she was almost surprised by the sincerity of his tone. "I should go."

"You're here now. I don't mind."

"And you're lying to me," Jane said and her mouth dropped slightly in surprise. "Please, Teresa. I'm a detective. I can tell when somebody is lying. Maybe not as accurately as you, or the reasons why, but I have been doing this job for years. You learn these things."

"Finish your tea, at least," she instructed.

"Yes, ma'am."

After an awkward silence that lasted approximately one minute, they slowly started to discuss the current case. Lisbon was glad to get off the uncomfortable subject of her personal life; she always felt exposed whenever she discussed it with other people. Once, Lisbon had told Jane that she had masqueraded as a psychic, but that she had faked the ability using her natural skills of deception, reading body language, wordplay and the like. It hadn't bothered him much; if anything, he had seemed almost impressed by it. After all, in part, Jane had been responsible for securing her current position in the CBI; he had seen the benefits of her skills from the very beginning. Now, they mostly got along with the task in hand: solving crimes. Lisbon hated being reminded of her fear that everybody would figure out her secrets. She still had skeletons in the closet, though, so the fear had never really gone away.

It appeared that Jane had very similar thoughts about this supposed copycat Red John as she did herself. While the stalker seemed like a positive lead, she was far more interested in the marriage counselor. She had appeared more disappointed about the loss of income from the couple as her clients than she had about the death itself. And then, there was the opinions on Red John. Still, the supposed stalker needed investigating in order to be certain. However, Lisbon was fairly certain that 'stalking' had been an exaggeration and the deceased had just been a fairly anxious soul. She scrutinized Jane as she considered her thoughts. Jane was all about the result of the case; he'd rather close it and fast, even if that required cutting corners. Even though she had no training whatsoever, Lisbon had always been more methodical in her thoughts. She preferred not to leave a stone unturned before she headed down the correct avenue.

And then, there was the simple fact she had already urged Jane to close this case as soon as possible. She should have known better; she should have known that would encourage his reckless behavior in lieu of good, honest police work. He was already convinced of Dr. Wyatt's guilt and thus, he wanted his confession. He was planning something and he wasn't to tell her precisely what it was he was planning. Nor did she entirely expect him to either. Jane was the boss, she was his subordinate, and he only needed to tell her what was strictly necessary. Still, it irked her, not being in the know. He was using her information and running risks. This was the kind of behavior that Minelli was hoping he'd temper by having her calming presence around. She really wasn't doing a very good job at that.

"Thanks for the tea," Jane spoke and he placed the cup on the side. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Jane…" she whispered and he turned on his heels.

"What?"

"Never mind," she added hastily.

There was no point in pressing him to open up. That was, quite simply, a lost cause. Instead, she watched as he headed towards the front door and let himself out. If he was going to risk hanging himself, then so be it. Of course, she genuinely hoped that he would get a positive result instead, but she knew there was always the risk that the case would turn sour. But that was Jane; that was his chosen methodology and it seemed to work. And he was lucky, when it came to solving cases. Otherwise, he wouldn't have still been in employment with the CBI. Would he?

xxx

He was disappointed. Jane had hoped that Lisbon would open up when he visited her. Regardless of what she claimed, the way she clung onto the past was unhealthy. But then, he could hardly blame her for that. Every night, when he tried to sleep, images of the car crash which had taken his mom's life flashed through his mind. It had been his fault; she had been on the way to the pharmacy to pick up his prescribed medication after a bout of tonsillitis and his mind had always managed to fill in the blanks. In quick succession, the crash was followed by his father switching from hapless drunk to a blind rage in the flip of a coin. It always ended with seeing his dad hanging from the light switch from a makeshift noose. As much as he liked to believe the scars of the past remained right there, they clung onto him at night and reminded him of whom he was and where he came from. Even moving across the country, and over two decades passing, had done little to ease the pain.

They never caught the person responsible for the catastrophic turn of events that his childhood had turned into. And thus, he had never been able to reconcile it with himself. Jane had easily found a way to blame himself for the accident. Deep down, he knew that wasn't the case, but it didn't stop his mind from working in other ways. He always wondered what would have happened if his mom had never been involved in the crash, or if they had managed to get justice for her. Of course, those 'what ifs' were never answered; Jane knew they never would be. Instead, he was certain that it was the reason he had opted to become a law enforcement officer. He never wanted people to suffer the indignity that he and his family had. After all, he hadn't been able to save his parents, but that didn't mean he couldn't save other people instead.

Jane also knew that his methodology was fairly unorthodox for a cop. He had been lucky to get as far as he had, and it all came down to the speed in which he closed cases. If he didn't have that, then he would have been kicked out on his ass for being too much of a risk otherwise. But he was his father's son, and had always felt the irrational need to push the limits. And ever since Teresa Lisbon had joined his team, the closed case record had only improved. She had strong insights and good instincts – better than his – and that meant he was able to use them in order to bring about justice for more families. Criminals deserved punishment, of that he was certain. And really, excepting the judge, jury and a plethora of D.A.s, who cared about the methods used, just so long as murderers ended up being caught and put behind bars? He certainly didn't, and his team was more than happy to work for him. For the most part, even Minelli was content with his work ethic. It was just when a little too much paperwork landed on his superior's desk that he got irritated.

In the end, he gave up and turned on the side lamp. He needed to think through this case, to work out a way of getting Dr. Wyatt to confess to the murder of Sally Hughes. The first problem was trying to figure out the motive. During the conversation at her old house, Lisbon had briefly touched upon her suspicions for motive, but she had stubbornly refused to expand upon it. She often did that; it was like she believed that if she only told him half the story, it would stop him from being reckless. However, and he was well aware that she knew it; it often encouraged him to do the exact opposite in order to bring about justice as soon as possible. Besides, he _liked_ being able to prove to her that he could be just as intelligent and almost as intuitive as she was.

After putting together the shreds of information that Lisbon had offered him, Jane suspected that Sally Hughes had done some research into Wyatt and discovered she had faked her certificates. She wasn't actually a qualified doctor and she wasn't even a qualified counselor. The woman had threatened to go public with that news unless they received a substantial payoff in exchange for her silence. In the end, Wyatt had decided to take matters into her own hands, especially when she discovered that Sally Hughes was less than virtuous too. The victim had been having an affair with another woman behind her husband's back and that was enough to tip Wyatt over the edge. Of course, it was all supposition and they didn't have any evidence yet, but that would come in time. One of the reasons he had picked Grace Van Pelt to join his unit was because she had excelled at the computer based researched during her training. Now, it was time to put her skills to the test.

In the meantime, he and Lisbon were going to have to get the confession. Lisbon rarely liked Jane's plans, but he knew he would be able to convince her to participate eventually. After all, as he always justified it, it was for the greater good. They knew who was responsible, they both agreed on it in spite of a lack of evidence, and they just needed to get them to confess. Jane dug out his faithful notepad and began to scribble down in it. He needed Lisbon to re-interview the suspect, alone, and work out for certain if she was guilty or not. Then, he needed to actually get her to confess. The first part was easily planned, the second less so.

Just what would trigger a confession from a cold-hearted killer who could blithely lie to the police with practiced ease? She'd lied about knowing who Red John was; that page was the most read in her book on serial killers.

Then, he smiled. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

Come morning, while they were leaving Rigsby and Cho to follow up on the stalker and Van Pelt to research Wyatt, Jane dragged Lisbon back to the marriage counseling clinic. It was early and a man waved cheerily at them as he watered the fuchsias. Lisbon was in a petulant mood; Jane had already explained the plan, but she was still in the 'stubbornly refusing to participate' mode and he needed to shake her out of it, and fast. He'd already booked the emergency appointment for her with Wyatt. Jane had claimed that she needed help sleeping, an easy lie for him considering he was a chronic insomniac himself. However, Lisbon hadn't been impressed by the concept of having to see some kind of shrink at all; briefly, Jane found himself wondering if she had some kind of impression with all shrinks, psychiatrists and counselors, but then he knew her sense of professionalism would win out. She would speak to this doctor, because she wanted the case closed as much as he did.

"I'm not doing this," she said bluntly as they walked through the door for the umpteenth time. "I don't see why…"

"Shh, Teresa," he answered soothingly and placed a hand on the small of her back. "I know you don't like it, but it's for your own good."

She narrowed her eyes slightly at him, but didn't retaliate. Of course, she knew they were in a very public place where they were likely to be overheard, so she couldn't snap back in the way she saw fit. Naturally, Jane was more than happy to use this to his advantage; he was going to get her into Dr. Wyatt's office, and she was going to talk to her. Lisbon was going to use the fabricated appointment to have a proper read of the counselor, and then, she could report back. All she had to do was pretend she had a problem for a very short while, and that was it. This was something she had done for years when she had pretended to be a psychic; he wasn't asking her to do anything outside of her comfort zone. Theoretically, she should have been absolutely fine.

"Teresa Lisbon?" the receptionist called, and Lisbon froze for a second. "Dr. Wyatt will see you now."

"Jane, I _can't_…" she whispered, and for a brief second she looked slightly paler than usual.

"You'll be fine," he urged. "Go on. The sooner you deal with this, the better, yes?"

Her glare deepened, but in the end, she sent him a decisive nod and he was relieved. Jane knew that Lisbon would come around in the end, but sometimes, she was a lot of hard work. At least he had managed to convince her to go ahead with it now.

xxx

"You don't want to be here, do you?" Dr. Wyatt started softly.

Lisbon avoided making eye contact with the fake counselor and instead, drummed her fingers against the coffee table that sat between them. On it, Wyatt had placed a notebook, some pages printed off of the internet and a ballpoint pen. However, Lisbon was staring at the bookcase. Even from here, she could see the textbook on serial killers. This woman was a con artist, just like she had been prior to the death of her family. And the fact that she had now killed in order to continue with the deception made Lisbon sick to her stomach. She showed remorse every single day for what happened to her husband and daughter, whereas Wyatt was more than happy to pretend that nothing had ever happened.

When the woman repeated her forename, Lisbon reluctantly drew her gaze away from the bookshelf and back onto Wyatt. The woman rearranged her scarves and smiled genially. Slowly, she reached out to touch her hands gently, but Lisbon automatically pulled them away before she had a chance to do so. Fleetingly, Wyatt frowned before she rearranged her features into a soothing expression once again. However, Lisbon had already seen the chink in her armor. Despite her 'many years of experience', or so she claimed, she wasn't all that prepared for tough patients who didn't want to open up.

"I'm sure your boss booked this appointment for a reason. He wants to help, and so do I."

"Right."

"I've been told you have sleeping problems?" she asked and Lisbon jerked her head in a slight nod. "I assume this stems from the death of your family. They were killed by Red John, correct?"

"Yes. And I thought you'd never heard of Red John."

Wyatt glanced out of the window briefly. It was the first time in this whole farce of an appointment when she had stopped staring relentlessly at Lisbon. She was almost glad for the reprieve, but she also knew that whatever came out of her mouth next would be a lie. The woman's tells were blatant, after all.

"Please. Everyone's heard of Red John," Wyatt answered dismissively.

"Then why did you lie about it yesterday?"

"It would have been a little bit suspicious, considering…"

"Considering what?" Lisbon pushed her, keen to hear the words herself.

"Never mind," Wyatt retorted, but Lisbon had heard enough.

"Thank you for your time."

She stood and headed straight for the door. When Dr. Wyatt called her name several times, she blindly ignored her and went to the waiting room. There, Jane sprang to his feet and practically chased her out of the clinic. It wasn't until they were safely in the SUV that Lisbon dared to confide in him about what she discovered. Wyatt was definitely the person responsible for Sally Hughes' death and she had very nearly confessed to Lisbon. She was frustrated; if Wyatt had actually confessed, then all Jane would have had to do was arrest her. Lisbon would have been more than happy to testify in court as to what she had heard. Instead, she knew that Jane was going to do something risky simply to squeeze the confession out of her.

Once they were back at the base Van Pelt had set up for them in the Malibu P.D. headquarters, the young rookie obligingly confirmed that the paper trails led to Wyatt fabricating her qualifications. Rigsby and Cho called soon after to say that the supposed stalker was definitely a dead end. The man, while familiar with Sally Hughes, certainly didn't seem to have an unhealthy interest in her. That meant the case was heating up. Jane quickly informed each of them that they had mundane tasks to do – Van Pelt to look at the Hughes family bank details, with Lisbon's assistance. Rigsby and Cho were to interview the boss, just to make sure. Lisbon was about to complain about being 'wasted' doing paper trails, but before she had a chance, Jane had disappeared.

Vaguely, she watched as Van Pelt typed furiously at the laptop. To keep herself busy, Lisbon prepared her several cups of coffee, but soon found herself growing bored. If they had a spare laptop, then maybe she would have been of more assistance. She had experience looking in databases and the like for information, too. Slowly, her mind strayed to whatever the hell Jane's plan was and she was getting increasingly concerned. Knowing him, he would do something drastic to get the confession, like pretend to be the real Red John. Then, fear grabbed hold of her. She could easily have planted that seed in his head when she had expressed the urgency to close the case. Swiftly, she apologized to Van Pelt, explained that she had to go and quickly called Rigsby and Cho.

She met them both back at the clinic. Wordlessly, Rigsby burst into the building and Cho stayed with her. He didn't say a word, but his presence was more than enough comfort. Just so long as Rigsby stopped Jane from doing anything stupid, then that was the main thing. After a tortuous five minutes, Rigsby and Jane eventually appeared with a handcuffed Simone Wyatt in tow. Jane guided the woman into the car and Lisbon caught Rigsby by the arm.

"What did he do?" she asked him quietly.

He shook his head. "You don't want to know."

Ignoring the pleas to come back, she headed straight into the clinic for the second time that day and went towards Wyatt's office. The receptionist immediately complained, but Lisbon ignored her. She pushed the door roughly open with her right hand and stared at the opposite wall in immediate disgust. There, was a half-painted facsimile of Red John's calling card, the smiley face. Just as she suspected, Jane had threatened her, had pretended he was the real Red John masquerading as a cop. Lisbon, automatically, was furious. Her anger was partially directed at Jane, of course, for taking it way too far to get a confession, but also at herself. She could have stopped him from doing this and she should have known better.

And then, there was the simple fact that he knew just how much Red John hurt her.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Sorry for not updating, I have an epic migraine and have done so for a week now. I also have some exciting news to announce regarding this fic: it has been voted as Best Alternate Universe, Angst, Red John, 'Drama, Hurt/Comfort & Best Novel in the Het categories of the 2013 Paint It Red Awards. I'm so excited and humbled by everyone who voted for this story. And now, I am so glad that I finally have the opportunity to start cross-posting it on here.

With thanks to: Jessica, MentalistLover13, Guest, phoenixx87, livingandthriving, Jane Doe51, kathiann, nic73, Miss Peg and Ebony10 for reviewing chapter three.

I hope you are all enjoy reading it - and I would love to hear your thoughts on this story as it is so dear to my heart. Even if you've never dared review a story before, I would really love to see what you are thinking about it!

x tromana

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Jane was feeling irritable and bored. Technically, it was his fault, but still. Due to having two suspensions within the space of a month, the time he'd spent off was beginning to drive him mad. He told himself that it was for the greater good, they had closed the case and averted a potential crisis. Red John hadn't gotten wind of their copycat killer and now, Dr. Simone Wyatt was safely behind bars and would remain there until she was tried for murder. Unfortunately, Teresa Lisbon had seen fit to tell his boss about the methodology he had used to garner the confession and Minelli had taken an instant dislike to it. He wasn't angry with her; he understood why she had done it. However, he was a little bit disappointed; he'd hoped she would know why he had to do what he did. But ultimately, that was why he was driving himself stir crazy in his room at the extended stay motel. That was why he wasn't at work instead.

Before he'd left, Jane had made sure that he had a copy of the abridged version of the Red John case files. It gave him something to work on while he was away and besides, it was his most important case. Red John hung over them like a dark shadow and his consultant more than most. He hated the fact that Teresa Lisbon was suffering in a similar, but more acute, way to how he had since childhood. She deserved answers and he was determined to give them to her as soon as feasibly possible. Maybe then she would see fit to stop blaming herself for the death of her family, especially her daughter, and then, she would be able to move on with her life properly. All the prayers in the world weren't going to make a difference, but if he was proactive about the case then he might just.

However, he had read these notes countless times and he hated the fact he was constantly going over the same old ground. They needed some new information - and fast - but the scant leads they had were all stale or redundant. If one of Red John's so-called friends or followers suddenly developed a conscience, then that would have helped immensely. Or if Red John decided to kill again, they would have to hope they could capitalize on the new leads that developed as a consequence. But even so, the killer was meticulously careful. On the rare occasions he did leave something behind, there was always a hidden message behind it. Red John didn't make mistakes; or at least, he didn't appear to. Besides, he had only killed once since Jane and his unit had taken control of the case. That was shortly after Lisbon had joined the team, and at that point, she had been half the woman she was now. She'd still been so deep in mourning for her husband and daughter, that the case had done more damage to her than use. Jane was sick of feeling like he was three steps behind Red John, but he reminded himself that the serial killer was human. He did make mistakes. One day, he told himself, he would have answers for Lisbon and all of the other grieving friends and relatives of victims, too.

With a heavy sigh, he snapped the file shut and stashed it underneath the mattress for safekeeping. He couldn't sit still for much longer; he needed to do something more proactive. Quickly, he came to a decision, grabbed his gun off the counter and holstered it. Jane could feel he was tensing up and decided that getting down the range and having some shooting practice would make sense. In spite of all of his achievements in law enforcement, he consistently felt under confident handling a firearm. And although he was a fairly good shot down the range, it was another matter entirely applying it out in the field. Regardless, the more practice he had handling the damn thing, the better. He didn't like guns particularly, but it was a necessary evil of the job. Like the mountainous piles of paperwork he had to endure most months, admittedly, mostly generated by himself.

Instead of taking the state-issue SUV that the CBI supplied him with, he used the blue Citroen he had inherited from his father. It was the one possession of his dad's that he'd kept; looking in the mirror was often more than enough to remind him of the monster his father had become. Jane shivered; when he'd been ten years old, he had always felt himself bursting with pride when somebody said he was truly his father's son. Now, it seemed more like a curse he'd been afflicted with, something he would never be able to get rid of, however hard he tried. If he was less like his father, then maybe he would have been able to adhere to the rulebook that little bit better, and then he would actually be able to do his job without a suspension every six months or so. At least, for the most part, Virgil Minelli thought he was worth the additional hassle. If it wasn't for him, then he wouldn't have a job at all or he'd be stuck in some backwater dump where his 'genius' would have been even less appreciated than it was in Sacramento.

The shooting range was mercifully quiet, with only two other people there when Jane arrived. In the parking lot, he smiled when he recognized one of the cars. Having a friend inside would make the time pass by much quicker. Whether or not she was going to be as pleased to see him remained to be seen. As a consequence, he signed in hurriedly, stashed his belongings in a locker and prepared himself mentally for going to shoot. The sound of gunshots made him jump for a second, but he quickly settled down; it was in a controlled environment, ergo there was no danger whatsoever.

He grabbed hold of a pair of bright yellow ear defenders and snapped them over his ears. Then, he sauntered over to the petite brunette and placed a hand on her right shoulder just as soon as she finished firing off a round. Teresa Lisbon practically jumped out of her skin at the gentle touch. She placed her firearm down, wheeled around on her heels and Jane narrowly avoided getting punched in the face. It wasn't for the first time either, he mused. Jane smiled warmly at her, but Lisbon shot him a dirty glare. Carefully, they both slid the defenders off of one ear and it was only then that she spoke to him.

"What the hell are you doing here, Jane?" she muttered irritably.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied, still grinning. "At least using a gun is a part of my job description."

She rolled her eyes. "I do have my license, you know."

"No I didn't," Jane answered softly and he took a step back. "You're quite good. When did you learn?"

"My dad taught me," she replied frankly and Jane was surprised that she had brought up her absent father at all. "He wanted to make sure I had no fear of them and that I could always defend myself when necessary. I always come down here after a stressful day to let off some steam."

Jane nodded in response. He hadn't expected Lisbon to be quite so open with her reasoning behind getting her firearm license. But then, her justification made complete sense. Although she had never gone into detail about her upbringing, Jane knew that it had been unusual and that she had never attended high school, never mind college. If her lifestyle had once been just as risky as she had insinuated on occasion, then it made sense that her overprotective father had made every effort to ensure she could keep herself safe. Especially so when her mother had died shortly after the birth; that much, he had been able to discover through a little research shortly after Lisbon had become associated with his team.

Lisbon turned away at that moment, put her ear defenders back on and fired off another round. Jane watched, admiringly, from the background. She seemed more at ease with the gun in her hand than many cops did; it was quite the contradiction. Not once had Lisbon shown any inclination towards her ability to handle weapons in the past. And also, it was a rather alarming development. Lisbon had made it clear from the very beginning that Red John was the principle reason she had offered her services to the CBI. If she ever got her hands on the serial killer, just what were her intentions for him? Jane didn't want to see her behind bars, or worse, for exacting revenge on the bastard who killed her family. After everything that had gone wrong in her life, she didn't deserve that. And yet, he understood the impetus for it entirely. If he knew the identity of the person who had killed his mom, he couldn't say he would sit in silence. He would do everything to bring about justice for her - and his father by default - even if that meant taking the law into his own hands. In fact, Jane knew that the exact same would apply to Red John too. He'd caused so much pain and misery, that even death was too good for somebody like him.

"Have you ever had to use a gun out of the shooting range?" Jane asked when Lisbon was scrutinizing the results of her latest round.

She hesitated for a second, as if she were trying to decide between lying and telling the truth. "Once," she admitted quietly and she glanced at her feet. Jane immediately knew that she had opted for honesty in this case. "I was just a kid; we got attacked when advertising the carnival."

"Did you..." he trailed off quickly.

"I missed, but the shot was more than enough to scare them off."

"Good."

He wondered if she was haunted by the only time she had used a gun in self-defense, like he was for each and every time he had to pull the trigger. The ghosts of the past came out to haunt him at night, to taunt him for bending the law to breaking point. They accused him of failing in his position as a police officer, told him that if he were a better cop, he would have been able to arrest them and allow the law to take care of justice. Instead, he had killed them, murdered them in cold blood. If he'd believed in Hell, he would have taken their accusations that he would shortly be following them there seriously. As it was, it made him question: just because he had a badge, did that really make the fact he had taken a life any different? Technically, of course, it did. But a life was a life, regardless of what the people had been responsible for in the past.

And that was why he avoided using his gun at all costs. Whenever he was with Cho, Jane could see that his second in command was just as reluctant to use a firearm as he was, if not to actually draw it. Jane knew that Cho had suffered from an equally tragic past; his time in gangs and the army had most likely taught him to respect the weapon but not to take it for granted either. Cho was haunted, too, but in a very different way to Jane. He seemed like he had been able to come to terms with any deaths he'd been responsible for much more easily. But then, Cho didn't feel partially responsible for the deaths of two members of his family, either. Lisbon, however, while she knew how to use a gun, she didn't have those problems when it came to the use of firearms. She needn't regret using it as a warning, but that made her all the more dangerous. One of these days, Jane could see her being changed by the use of it and specifically, if she ended up using it against Red John. He could only hope that that day would never come. He made a mental note to keep a quiet eye on his consultant; he couldn't let her get out of control, like he did on all too frequent occasions. That also meant he would have to learn how to temper his antics at work. He couldn't watch over her, he couldn't _save_ her, if he was almost constantly on suspension.

For another hour, as the sun slowly made its descent and set outside, they continued to shoot without exchanging any words. Occasionally, Jane stopped to spend the time watching Lisbon and her style. He was almost surprised to see she was better than him, but then, he knew he was lousy considering he was a senior agent for the CBI. There were rookies coming straight out of the academy who were far better shots than he was. Eventually, Lisbon put away her weapon and Jane became aware that she was assessing his each and every move. As a consequence, his shooting immediately went downhill and it irked him. It felt like his consultant was better at his job than he was. And besides, he desperately wanted her approval. Considering her history, Teresa Lisbon was remarkably level headed and sensible and he liked – almost envied – that about her. Even though they didn't really know each other outside of the office, Jane knew that he could trust her to the ends of the earth. He sincerely doubted that she would have that same faith in him.

"Have you ever been taught to shoot properly?" she enquired when he slid off his ear defenders as he inspected the damage.

"Of course I have," he answered back abruptly.

"Your stance is wrong. And the way you're breathing is too."

Lisbon encouraged him to pick up his Glock and he did so obligingly. She placed one of her hands gently on his waist and the other over his weapon. Carefully, she maneuvered him until the gun was in line for a kill shot on the target. It felt foreign having her so close by, touching him even. Lisbon had never been one for being tactile; he had challenged that in her on occasion, but it had always made her withdraw further away from him. So, he genuinely appreciated the fact she was actually making the effort to get closer to him now. Silently, he reminded himself that there was a reason behind it: she was trying to help him improve at his job. There was no other hidden meaning behind her actions at all. But then, even if there was, she was remarkably good at concealing her thoughts from him. Maybe he would have been oblivious to it if there was?

"Feel the shot. Only fire when you're breathing out; it needs to come from inside of you," she explained in a low and gentle tone. "The gun must feel like a natural extension of your body."

Slowly Jane closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, as he had been instructed to do so. A part of him almost swore that he had surprised Lisbon by actually listening to her instruction. Even so, he was used to different breathing techniques like this, to assist with his sleeping, but they rarely worked. Not once had he thought to apply it to the use of his firearm. When it had evened out, he could still feel Lisbon's gentle touch on his body and he relaxed into it. Then, he let out the breath he had been holding and as he did so, he pulled the trigger. Jane winced as the sound of the bullet cut through the air; they had both forgotten to replace their defenders. However, the bullet tore through the paper precisely where the heart had been marked out. Gingerly, Jane clicked the safety back on and Lisbon let go of him, almost as if she had suddenly found their close proximity inappropriate. He turned to face her and she smiled wryly.

"Easy," she muttered lowly. "I can't believe nobody taught you that."

"People just expect cops to be a natural at it," Jane replied with a shrug.

"Everything needs practice," Lisbon countered and she took a few steps back. "I'll see you when you're back at work, Jane. It's been… good to see you."

He watched as she took a couple of steps away. It was strange how he felt like he should know her so well and yet, in actuality, she was a bit of a mystery to him. Deep down, Jane knew that he wanted to spend more time with her and not just at work. He wanted her approval, as her boss, he deserved her trust and he wanted to keep her close. It felt safer that way. Automatically, he started to follow her, but she seemed almost oblivious to the fact.

"Teresa, wait," he eventually called when it was clear she had expected him to stay behind.

Swiftly, she turned on her heels and eyed him quizzically. Jane never usually felt this disconcerted to talk to her, but he swallowed down any nerves. He wasn't asking her to marry him; instead, he was offering out a hand of friendship. In a strange sort of way, he knew that they could both do with more friends, more people they could rely upon.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Let me take you out for a drink," he suggested and she began to shake her head. "As thanks for your help, nothing else. Nothing… inappropriate."

She didn't answer him immediately, and the silence that enveloped them felt tortuous to Jane. "Okay," she eventually murmured. "I'd like that."

He was relieved that she hadn't disappeared and left him by the time he had managed to gather together all of his belongings. Immediately, Lisbon offered to drive and Jane complied; he knew she trusted his beloved blue Citroen even less than she trusted him. Besides, she had work in the morning, whereas he was still waiting for the PSU to actually make a decision on his case. He hoped they wouldn't take too much longer; they should have been used to him and his issues by now. They had probably already lost count of the number of times they had dealt with him already.

Lisbon was quiet as she drove sedately. He let her pick out which bar to go to; he had a feeling that allowing her some sense of control would mean she would be more inclined to trust that he was being genuine with his offer. Jane dedicated so much of his life to work, that it was almost a novelty to be able to go out to a bar with somebody he wanted to consider as a friend. He still knew that Lisbon was going to be hard work though; she built up barriers and defended them to the extreme. It was understandable why; she was scared that if she let anybody else get close to her, then they would inevitably end up getting hurt. With Red John as a personal enemy, it was clear that she rarely felt safe as each day went by.

Conversation was initially stilted, as it had been in Lisbon's family home. Jane knew that Lisbon always had trouble opening up about her feelings, and especially the past. He couldn't blame her for that, but then, he wished she would just learn that she could trust him. He wasn't about to hurt her, nor would he abuse that trust. The only time he took risks was when he was at work, and that was simply to push cases forwards. It was his job to close cases, after all, and the one thing he felt like he was any good at. She continued to stare aimlessly out of the window, as her finger trailed across the rim of her wine glass. Jane wondered if this had anything to do with her deceased husband, if she was thinking that she was betraying him for merely having a drink with a co-worker. But that was all this was, just a drink. He was being entirely open with his intentions; he liked and cared about Teresa Lisbon, she was one of his team. Anything else he may or may not have felt, he buried deep down, anyway.

It was only when the conversation moved onto the work, and specifically, their current cases, that Jane was able to coax Lisbon out of her shell a little. Jane had already been away from work for several days, and thus, a couple of new cases had landed on their doorstep. He hated feeling out of touch with work, and he was glad that Lisbon had decided to take the chance on opening up to him about them. Naturally, he shared his insights with her, in the hope that she would pass the message onto Cho and the rest of the team. Just because he was on suspension, it didn't mean he didn't want to help on the cases. If he was there, he knew he would have been throwing his all into finding these killers. As it was, focusing on purely Red John was driving him insane.

And that was why he had leapt at the opportunity to spend more time with Teresa Lisbon when he'd seen her down at the shooting range. Not just because he could catch up with the current cases, and not just because he liked and admired his consultant, but because she offered him a much needed reprieve and distraction from the confines of his own mind. In theory, Jane also knew that he could have spent the time catching up with his errant brothers, but that was always difficult. Ever since he had left the family home, chasing his dreams to become a cop, his brothers had grown increasingly more distant with him, especially Tommy. Now, they seemed to resent him for leaving them for dust, and had bandied together against him. Jane had dragged the three of them up after the death of their father, and now, they wanted nothing to do with him as a result. So be it, he thought. At least he knew he had his team for support, if all else failed. Sometimes, he swore they were like a surrogate family to him.

"What do you think of Van Pelt, Teresa?" he enquired, shifting the subject ever so slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think of her?" he repeated, persistent. "Do you think she'll make a good agent? Do you think she'll fit into the team?"

"She's sweet and seems to get on well with the team. Naïve, though. She needs to grow a thicker skin if she's going to make it in law enforcement," Lisbon paused for a second to take a sip of her drink. "I also think she needs the leadership of a good senior agent around, instead of somebody who is constantly on suspension."

Lisbon smirked when she finished her statement and Jane quirked his head slightly in response. This was the most open – and most critical – she had ever been about Jane and his position at work. He wasn't offended though, what she had stated was the absolute truth. However, even when Minelli tried to rein him in, it only served to make Jane react contrarily. And thus, it had led to him growing increasingly out of control. But Lisbon was right; Van Pelt was young and needed guidance as a cop. He had a responsibility to her, one which he was currently failing.

"What are you insinuating, Ms. Lisbon?" he asked, with a grin which contradicted his statement.

She was about to defend herself when Jane's cellphone rang out. Jane held out a slender finger to silence her as he checked who the caller was. When he realized it was Cho, he frowned and immediately took the call. Lisbon listened in intently, but Jane ignored her. Instead, he focused entirely on what his second in command had to say, and as the situation developed, his frown deepened and he grew increasingly concerned. This was the last thing he wanted – or needed – to hear. And already, he was dreading telling Lisbon the sorry news. Without saying a word directly to her, he knew what kind of reaction she was going to have to it. Eventually, he bid Cho farewell and promised he would be there as soon as feasibly possible.

"What's wrong?" Lisbon asked softly.

"It's Red John," he said by way of explanation. "We have to go. Now."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Things are not looking good for me right now. I don't feel like I have much to cling onto beyond my writing and even that's hard.

But anyway. Thank you to: livingandthriving, AprilVV, phoenixx87, Jane Doe51, Guest and kathiann for reviewing chapter four.

x tromana

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Jane clarified what he knew, telling her exactly where they were about to head to. Lisbon placed down her drink as she considered what Jane had just told her. Red John had killed again, in his motel and his room, to be precise. Immediately, she wondered what exactly he had been up to prior to turning up somewhat unexpectedly at the shooting range. And in an instant, she found herself questioning everything she knew about her boss, his motives, his daily insanity, and the way he solved cases. He was the most oddball cop she had ever come across, and it had always seemed like such a contradiction. Was this the reason why he was like this? Was he genuinely hiding the fact that he was Red John behind his madness? Was that the reason he had been so keen to hire her in the first place? After all, they did say 'keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer'.

She shook her head and downed the rest of her drink, but remained rooted to the chair. Jane was about to head to the door, when he realized she hadn't automatically started to follow her. Lisbon watched as he slowly turned back around and returned to the table. He stared pointedly at her, but she remained mute. She was too busy trying to figure out what was real and what was fabricated in her mind. When it came to Red John, Lisbon knew that she had a tendency to let her imagination run wild. However, she couldn't help but question 'what if?'

"What were you doing before you met me at the shooting range?" she questioned slowly.

"I was at the motel, reading the Red John case files. Why?" he replied.

"Just wondering," she answered noncommittally, but the look on Jane's face suggested that he had already realized what she was implicating.

"Teresa, you cannot seriously be thinking that I am Red John."

"I don't know," she answered back heatedly. "I barely know you."

"We have worked together for a _year_."

"But does that really mean we know each other? Outside of work just how many conversations have we shared?"

"That's because you make every effort to ostracize yourself. Seriously, you _have_ to trust me. I am _not_ Red John."

Her shoulders sagged in defeat. "I know, I know. It's just..."

"You want answers? I know that Teresa. But I have an alibi, remember?" he said defensively. "I've been with you the whole time."

"I know."

"Now, can we actually stop wasting time and get to the crime scene, please?"

They drove back to Jane's motel in a stony silence. Just because they had talked, and just because she had half-admitted she was wrong to accuse him in such a way, it still wasn't enough to clear the air between them. Lisbon was glad that she was driving; it gave her something else to focus on instead of Patrick Jane and Red John. However, that didn't mean it was exactly working as a distraction. The fact that the serial killer had struck again worried Lisbon immensely, especially as it had occurred so soon after the copycat case. She had genuinely believed they had gotten through that case unscathed, but quite obviously, she had been entirely wrong on that front. But then, there were the darker thoughts that her mind desperately wanted to toy with. What if Jane himself had been responsible for this death? What if Jane _was_ Red John and he had been blatantly lying about his apparent innocence? She thought she was a good judge of character and of course, she had years of experience at reading people, but that didn't necessarily mean she was right every single time. And although she didn't entirely trust him to run a case properly, or to even be there if she needed him, she thought she trusted that he wasn't Red John. Besides, it didn't seem as though she had much choice in the matter at this specific moment in time.

And at the end of his call with Kimball Cho, Jane's face had been ashen from the sheer revelation. He hadn't expected to hear that kind of news; his reaction had been one of genuine shock. Of course, the more sensible part of her brain realized that this must be a message from the serial killer. Red John had been unhappy about how he had been copied and he wanted retribution, something which they had stolen away from him by arresting Wyatt. How else was he going to make his distaste known other than by murder? What scared Lisbon the most was that this was a direct attack on Patrick Jane, too. Red John toyed with people's lives like a cat with a mouse, but was it just because Jane was in charge of the case or because she was slowly but surely letting him get closer to her? Whichever, she knew she was playing a dangerous game.

And that it would probably be far safer for Jane and his unit if she wasn't involved with them at all. She had never told him, but shortly after her husband and daughter's murder, her father had had her institutionalized. Lisbon was deeply ashamed of her breakdown; especially so as people often commented on just how 'well' she had coped with the tragedy. In truth, she had barely coped with it at all; even now, the only reason she managed to get up in the mornings was because she had a job to do. Worse, after she had been released from the psychiatric ward and Dr. Sophie Miller's care, Red John had contacted her. Lisbon still had the note that he had sent her and she had never shown it to another living soul. All it confirmed was that the game was still on and that he was looking forward to seeing what her next move would be.

Her next move had been to join the CBI. It seemed natural, especially after she had discovered that the case had been passed onto them from the Sac. P.D. Briefly, she wondered if Red John actually had the hubris to kill them directly instead of this indirect act. He probably did, but was saving such an audacious act for a more 'appropriate' time. Silently, as she gripped hold of the steering wheel ever so slightly tighter, Lisbon reminded herself that they still didn't know for certain that this had been Red John. They were still taking Cho's word for it. Only when she saw that bloody smiley face with her own two eyes and made note of the rest of the crime scene, did she have to believe it. Until then, it was just supposition and hearsay. But yet again, at the mere mention of Red John, Lisbon had let her imagination run wild, to the extent of accusing Jane of being involved with the serial killer.

"I'm sorry. For lashing out," she murmured as they pulled into the motel's parking lot. "I have thought things through."

He touched her lightly on the arm and she flinched. "Don't be."

She vacated the car quickly and headed straight towards Cho, who was waiting outside for them patiently. The whole floor where Jane's room was had been cordoned off to the general public and several irate customers were huddled around a stressed-out manager. Despite there being good reason for being kicked out of their rooms, people still couldn't seem to understand that the murder had to take precedence over their comfort. Then, she could understand their stance: there was nothing you could do for the dead once they were dead. All they could do now was bring the killer to justice and pray that the deceased was taken into the loving hands of God. Lisbon neatly hopped over the yellow tape and Cho nodded at her, a frown etched between his eyebrows. It was the only sign of tension that was apparent in Jane's second in command. Cho was a man who was remarkably in control of his tells; it had taken Lisbon a good six months before she was able to read him effectively.

When Jane finally joined them, Cho took them both up to the crime scene. Automatically, Lisbon fell into step behind the two of them and was relieved that there was somebody else to break up the tense atmosphere that had enveloped them. Then again, everyone was tense. This was a major crime scene and it was to be expected. Worse, this was Red John and although they hoped the killer would be caught this time, there was an unwritten agreement that he was just as likely to escape once again. Only later on in an investigation did the black humor, the ability to actually crack a smile and the like, take over. For now, they had to respect the deceased.

The door to Jane's room had been left ajar and forensics people were buzzing around like flies. Through the gap, she could already see the trademark smiley face and her heart began to thrum erratically in her chest. This was the first _real_ mark of Red John that she had seen since her family had died. Naturally, all the flashbacks which she had only just been able to put back in place since the copycat killer all came flooding back. Lisbon closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she dared to step inside. This was going to be very difficult. Now she was hear, she was already convinced that Red John himself was responsible; this wasn't a fabrication carried out by an inexperienced amateur like last time around.

Although Jane had invaded her privacy both in Sacramento and Malibu, this was the first time that Lisbon had seen where Jane spent his nights with her own two eyes. As it was simply an extended stay motel, she wasn't surprised in the slightest that he hadn't made any efforts to personalize the space. What was the point if he was only going to leave soon anyway? However, there were small signs which meant she could tell that Jane had already spent a long while there. There was a pile of mail just beside the TV, the prescription sleeping pills on the bedside table and assorted toiletries in the bathroom cabinet. Other little details gave it away, too and Lisbon couldn't help but sigh. Although Jane was probably seriously considering finding somewhere proper to stay, Lisbon knew it was something he kept leaving for later. He was so busy with work and finding a house just wasn't of any great importance in comparison. It wasn't as if he had a wife and children to support, and his three brothers were all estranged anyway. The motel had provided him with a roof over his head, access to clean running water and a soft bed to lie in at night. That was all he needed in order to get by.

But then, however interesting it was, an insight into Jane's living conditions wasn't the reason she was actually here. The smiley face on the wall was. It was the only obvious blemish in an otherwise polished room. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed; there were no blood spatters on the pristine white bed sheets and no signs of a struggle. And there was no body in plain sight either; this was a break from Red John's usual M.O., just as his previous murder had been.

"Where's the body?" Van Pelt piped up suddenly; Lisbon hadn't even realized she was there.

Almost immediately in response, Lisbon was down on her hands and feet. Then she spotted the body of a young woman in a prim dress, complete with apron under the bed. She shuddered in revulsion when she saw the all too familiar cutting style of Red John. The blood had clotted over before she had been placed here; Jane's rooms hadn't been the murder site. Instead, the body had been moved there after the fact, and the smiley face had been painted after she had been positioned. Jane quickly followed suit and Lisbon could tell that he knew who this victim was.

"Who was she?" Lisbon asked him after she stood up.

"Her name is Maria Escobar. She worked as a cleaner here," Jane answered in a somber tone. "She was going to leave in a month, to go to college. She really wanted to make a better future for herself and her daughter."

"I'm sorry," Lisbon murmured, but Jane just shook his head sadly.

She suspected that the cleaner was the first personal acquaintance of Patrick Jane's that Red John had actually killed. Just because she hadn't been a close relative or family friend, it didn't make it any less shocking. The simple fact that he had known Maria Escobar on some level made it all the more personal. Red John had selected her for a reason; there was a hidden message behind it. He was getting closer and closer to them with his each and every mood. Jane was in an uncharacteristic dour mood and justifiably so. It could so easily have been him; if he had been home when Red John had chosen to strike, then they might have been discovering his body in the early hours of the morning too.

But then, Red John had probably been watching Jane's every move and for a considerable amount of time too. Everything he did was pre-planned, right down to where, when and who he killed. Only twice had somebody forced his hand and Lisbon was walking evidence of that. She shuddered; that meant he was probably somebody they had passed in the street, or even knew. It was entirely possible that she had even shaken his hand and nodded a hello at him. Of course, that didn't limit the number of suspects either. In her old job, she had met people from all walks of life and made numerous enemies out of them too. Any one of them could still hold a grudge; any one of them could have even been the serial killer without her realizing it at the time.

This was the first time that Red John had murdered since she had become attached to the CBI. Or at least, it was the first time he had killed and attached the resulting death to his infamous pseudonym. Lisbon didn't doubt that he had probably killed many people that they didn't even know about as well. They were the ones he wanted to disappear without people knowing about it, and of course, they were the cases that were lingering in the ever-increasing pile of cold cases. However, the relevance of this death, the relevance of it being somebody that Jane knew, the positioning of the body, none of that was lost on her. Red John wanted everyone to know that he was back with a bang. His hiatus during her institutionalization and subsequent recovery had only ever been temporary. Now his adversary was ready to be taken on properly, he was more than happy to step up to the plate.

Red John wanted her to know that she could never escape him too. That he could pick and choose to kill somebody she allowed herself to get close to, even Patrick Jane himself wasn't off limits. After all, Red John had killed two other men previously when he'd deemed it necessary; his preference for young women didn't mean anything at all. And then there was the fact he had chosen to hide the body: it was a metaphor. Red John was hiding in plain sight, he could surprise them at any given time and they would be none the wiser. In short, Red John held all the cards in his hands and they remained, rather pathetically, at least three steps behind him.

"Jane," Lisbon said quietly.

"Yes, Lisbon?"

"We won't get much more from here; we need to find the place she was actually killed."

Jane immediately nodded in agreement and quickly gave out his orders. "Rigsby, look in all the other rooms, including the staff room, laundry and kitchens. If we find the place this poor girl was killed, we might have a chance to catch this bastard. Make sure you question any other customers you happen to come across. You never know, they may have seen or heard something. Van Pelt, Cho, canvass the neighborhood. Pay particular attention to the nearby alleyways and the parking lot. Help Rigsby when you're done. Lisbon, you're with me."

Lisbon couldn't help but think that Van Pelt was being thrown in at the deep end. However, there was no such thing as an easy job in law enforcement. The sooner she learned the ropes, the better. And besides, a difficult case such as this one was going to teach her a hell of a lot more than one which resulted in her staring aimlessly at a computer screen for hours on end. She swallowed as she took her position beside Jane; she knew they were most likely going to question the other staff on duty before going to inform the dead girl's next of kin. That was always the next step in an investigation, regardless of whether or not it was just an 'average' murder or the most notorious serial killer that California had to offer.

They watched as the team left to carry out their assigned duties. None of them argued; they all knew they had an important role to play in this investigation. Lisbon automatically started to head for the door, but Jane held a single finger up to her and she stopped abruptly. With a look of interest, she watched as he carefully headed over to the bed. In one swift movement, he lifted up the mattress to see what was underneath it. Nothing was there, and Jane's frown deepened. He turned on his heels to face Lisbon and she mouthed a 'what?' at him. Jane shook his head, and quickly checked the rest of his room for any missing objects. It was only when he had finished looking over the place with a proverbial fine tooth comb that he turned to Lisbon and actually shared the problems that were on his mind.

"The abridged case file. It's gone," he muttered, and he sounded very angry with himself.

"Oh."

Jane didn't need to specify which abridged case file was missing; there was only one he'd been working on during his suspension and only one that was of any particular importance to them. Of course, all case files were important, because of confidentiality and such, but Red John was only going to be interested in one and that was his own. Lisbon felt as though her breathing had been constricted for a brief second as she considered the repercussions of this. If Red John had his abridged case files, then that meant he knew precisely where the CBI was when it came to his investigation. It meant that he knew just how close – or how far away – they were from arresting him, or worse. It also meant that he could take action to ensure he remained at large. And Lisbon knew perfectly well that when it came to 'action' Red John only had one thing in mind, and that was murder. As Jane had inadvertently allowed the abridged Red John case file to end up in said serial killer's hands, he had automatically put all their lives in even more risk than they already were.

Without saying another word, Lisbon vacated the room. There was nothing they could do about that, not anymore. At least, she told herself, it was only the abridged version. Important developments in the case had yet to be filed in the abridged version; it was for this very reason that only partial copies of case files were allowed out of the CBI headquarters. And besides, they had leads to chase up and people to question. If they wasted time worrying about this, then they wouldn't have a chance to apprehend Red John this time around. As far as Lisbon was concerned, there needn't be a next time, if they could capitalize on the developments that had been put forwards in this specific Red John case.

Once they reached the bottom of the staircase, Jane abruptly turned around and placed his hands on each of her shoulders. Lisbon tried to turn away, but Jane kept a firm but gentle grip on her; she wasn't going anywhere. He stared intently into her eyes and she furrowed her brow in response. Jane was worried about her and _for_ her too. That much was obvious from his darkening expression. He was scared that she was going to go off the rails again, or pull away from him even more so than she already had. And he was right; she was sick of playing the dangerous game. It was something she had been forced into all of her life, with no thanks to her good for nothing (and now, uncharacteristically absent) father. Now, after the brutal death of her family, the situation only seemed to be escalating.

"Teresa, I can't have you pulling away from me," he stated firmly.

"I'm fine, Jane. Honestly," she replied, lying as she did so.

"If I believed that, then I'd believe anything."

"C'mon, let's get on with this," she replied, ignoring the problem.

Maria Escobar's family took the news far better than Lisbon had when she had been in their shoes. Her father wore a look of resignation, like he had expected his daughter to be discovered dead one day. The mother, meanwhile, remained stubbornly silent and clung hold of her sleeping granddaughter. When the young girl awoke, her whole world was going to be turned upside down and Lisbon's heart broke for her. If there was one thing she was grateful for in her own sorry situation, then that was the fact her daughter wasn't going to grow up motherless. Lisbon had been there herself and she wouldn't have wished it on anybody. Although she didn't like Mr. Escobar's demeanor especially, Lisbon knew that he had very little of use to tell them, except for the simple fact that his daughter had a tendency of associating with the wrong people.

They quickly headed back to the motel, and remained in that same stubborn silence as they did so. Part of Lisbon wished she had the capability of opening up to Jane, but the rest of her knew that was unwise. Red John had used this death as a message to them, and she was going to heed his advice, unless absolutely necessary. She had already led her husband and daughter to their deaths and she wasn't about to do the same to Jane and his team. When they arrived, Van Pelt updated them on the situation; they had found where the girl had been murdered, but no obvious clues to lead to Red John. Rigsby, meanwhile, had managed to corral all the present staff into one room. None of them looked particularly impressed by the development; some of them had crossed their arms and were tapping their feet in disgust. Their attitude annoyed Lisbon; a colleague had met their brutal demise nearby and these people were only interested in getting the job done and getting back home.

There was only one person who she found particularly interesting in this crowd. One man loitered at the back and he had his head buried in his newspaper. He acted completely oblivious to what was going on around him and didn't even respond when Jane started asking the group a few basic questions. In fact, nobody was of much use at all. Then again, it was getting late and most of them should have finished their shift at least half an hour ago. If a dead body hadn't been discovered, then they would already have been home with their loved ones or at the very least, otherwise engaged. When she was getting frustrated with their responses to Jane's question, Lisbon tapped him gently on the shoulder and he stepped aside and allowed her to take the lead.

"Right," she said clearly and immediately, the vast majority of people in the room paid attention to her. "I don't care what you think of Maria Escobar as a person; you could want to dance on her grave and it wouldn't matter to me. What does bother me is the simple fact she was brutally killed by Red John in the alleyway opposite this motel. And somebody in this room knows about it because _they_ helped to set it up."

Lisbon paused for a second while her blunt statement settled in the room. A couple of people started nervously chattering about it. Jane had spent his time questioning them skirting around the Red John issue, in the hope that one individual would end up hanging themselves with it by bringing him up. Now that she had revealed that the serial killer was responsible, she had suddenly caught their attention. Now, it wasn't just their stupid co-worker stupidly getting herself killed in the room rented out by a cop, of all people. Instead, this was something they could gossip about for years. Red John had been here and he had killed here. Now, it was dramatic and exciting. When almost everybody had started chattering between themselves, Lisbon silenced them with a swift motion of her hands. Once more, she had them on tenterhooks.

"And I know who is responsible."

"Oh yeah?" someone asked skeptically.

"How so?" somebody else called out.

"I used to work as a psychic. I can tell these things," she explained plainly.

A couple of people expressed their skepticism, but Lisbon ignored them. Their disbelief was of little importance to the current situation. Slowly, she started weaving her way through her rapt audience. This reminded her of exactly what she used to do when her whole life was controlled by her dad. Get the audience hooked, and then drop the bombshell which would leave people talking for days, weeks, months even. But this time, it wasn't so that she and her family could make a quick buck; instead, it was for the greater good. It was somewhat unlikely, but there was the possibility that this could lead to a link to Red John. She just had to play her cards right.

Eventually, she settled in front of the man with the newspaper, the only person who was yet to give her his undivided attention. Every other pair of eyes remained glued to her, Jane's included. The year she had spent working with him thus far meant that she knew he loved watching her play these mind games on people, he'd always found them especially impressive. Lisbon smiled as the man stubbornly stared at the article he was supposedly reading. He did everything possible to avoid meeting her gaze and Lisbon knew exactly why he was behaving in such a way. Slowly she raised her hand and pointed directly at him.

"You," she stated plainly.

The man carefully folded up his paper and slipped it under the crook of his arm. He regarded Lisbon for a second, as if it were the first time he had ever seen her. However, despite the fact he had been stubbornly reading his paper, he had been taking furtive glances at her every so often from the very beginning of the interview, before Jane had even introduced her to the crowd.**.** He had been checking that she wasn't getting any closer to him, and now she was standing right in front of him, Lisbon could see the fear in the very whites of his eyes.

"Me what, Ma'am?" he enquired, acting oblivious.

"You know Red John."

"I have no idea..."

He trailed off suddenly and then threw the newspaper in Lisbon's face. A door - one of two exits to the staff room - was situated just behind him. The man had planned where he was going to stand to perfection; he already had an escape route worked out. Lisbon wasn't surprised in the slightest when he took opportunity of the distraction and ducked out the door, in order to take flight down the corridor behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. Life is... tough right now. But thanks also for the support. I will get through this one day. It'll just take time. I am seeking help for these issues for those who wanted to know.

Thanks to: livingandthriving, Guest, Guest, phoenixx87, Guest, kathiann and Jane Doe51 for reviewing chapter five.

x tromana

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Before they had even started to question the employees, Jane had positioned the rest of his team outside of both exits from the staff room for just this scenario. If any employees had been involved both he and Lisbon had suspected that they would try and make their escape before they had finished talking to the employees together. Therefore, Jane was relieved to see Wayne Rigsby dragging the handcuffed suspect back to the SUV. It hadn't taken all that much effort for him to break either, so Jane was hopeful that it wouldn't take much pressure for him to break once again during a proper questioning. However, that could wait until morning. The man could be safely held in one of their holding cells and left to stew for the rest of the night. Jane yawned expansively; the goings on of the night was catching up with him.

Lisbon turned up beside him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He smiled warmly at her and they fell into step beside each other as they headed back to the car they had arrived in. She looked emotionally drained and Jane couldn't blame her for that; chasing her family's killer had to take its toll on her, especially at moments like this. He vaguely considered ordering her to go home and rest, but he knew she wouldn't need that. After all, Teresa Lisbon had far more common sense than he had, that much was obvious. For a brief while they lingered together by the vehicle without bothering to actually get in, never mind exchange words. Eventually, it was Jane who broke the uncomfortable silence.

"You did good today," he murmured gently but she shook her head defiantly in response.

"It's not over yet."

"He _could_ be Red John," Jane persisted.

Lisbon pulled a face at the sheer unlikeliness of his statement and realistically, he had to agree with her. They both knew that this man was a mere accomplice, somebody who had been swayed by the false promises of money, love and some sort of affection. These kind of people were easy to turn and easily broken, and thus, didn't have the mental resolve in order to evade apprehension for many years at a time. Often, they didn't have the impetus or drive to kill either. They may have been eager to please, but that didn't mean they had the natural killer instinct that serial killers like Red John had too.

"Please. Red John would never have fallen for a simple trick like that."

"He could still lead us to Red John."

"He might not have even met the man face to face before," Lisbon answered lightly, but without the complete and utter conviction he normally associated with her statements.

Jane sighed. This case had brought out Lisbon's cynical side and that was something he hadn't expected. He'd hoped that she would be optimistic about the prospects of finally putting Red John to bed, but the serial killer had evaded capture for nine years. She couldn't be blamed for thinking their track record was against them. However, they hadn't had her working with them during previous cases and as far as he was concerned, that made all the difference. However, his beliefs in her and her abilities would never have been enough to prevent her own self-doubt from creeping in too. Jane had been there on so many occasions in the past that he couldn't help but empathize with her plight. Even now, he felt wholly unqualified for the role of special senior agent with the CBI. But other people believed in him, and it was that which gave him the driving force in his career.

"Where are you going to live from now on? Where are you staying tonight?" she asked when Jane didn't answer.

"They have a spare room for me," Jane replied simply. "They have always offered me a good service here."

It wasn't a lie; they had rewarded him for his loyal custom over the past five years or so. Theoretically, he could have left them a long while ago. Some people had said that he should have done so and gotten himself a nice apartment or townhouse instead. As senior agent, the CBI paid him more than enough to get somewhere decent. Instead, because he felt comfortable, he lingered where he was. He'd seen no cause to leave.

"Jane, Red John knows where you live. He could come back at any time, he could-"

"Teresa," he started, cutting her off abruptly as he did so. "We both know that if Red John wanted to kill one of us - if he wanted to kill _anybody_ - he has the resources to find them, wherever they try to hide."

She remained mute but stared at him darkly. Her look said more than enough. Lisbon believed he was running an unnecessary risk by staying out here and he might as well have been painting a target on his back. And she did have a point: if he stayed here, he was making it all too easy for Red John to find him. But then, maybe that was the point of staying? He could play a double bluff; Red John would expect him to leave because of the threat, not to stay. But then, Jane knew that his defiance was relatively well-known. He didn't like to play by the rules, so staying out of stubbornness could have been just as expected of him as leaving was. However, the look of concern in Lisbon's eyes suggested she wouldn't stop worrying about him unless he decided to listen to her advice.

"You're really worried about me, aren't you?" he whispered.

Lisbon glanced away, unable to maintain eye contact any longer. Jane knew that if Red John got to him or any of the team, she would just blame himself. She was very good at harboring guilt for things which weren't entirely her fault, but he couldn't judge her for that. He tried to reach out to touch her, but she second-guessed his actions and stepped to one side. Lisbon didn't want his comfort, or pithy words of assurance, she just wanted him to listen to her in this instance. Jane couldn't say that he never took her advice; sometimes her insight into cases was invaluable, hence the reason she remained on the CBI payroll. However, when it came to their personal lives, they usually kept one another at arm's length. They were two broken individuals; if they got any closer, it would either work perfectly or be a catastrophe. As it stood at this moment in time, neither one of them was willing to take the risk and let things go further.

"Teresa, I'll be fine," he said, though he knew in actuality that he couldn't guarantee it.

"Come stay with me," she muttered, ignoring his previous statement entirely. "I have a spare room. You can use it until you find somewhere else."

"I'm sorry, but I _can't_."

"Why not?" she countered and she was practically daring him to give her a legitimate excuse. "It won't be for long. The space isn't being used by anybody else anyway, I have no family..."

She trailed off but the pleading look in her eyes remained. Jane glanced away as he tried to consider the sudden change of attitude that had overcome his consultant. Just hours ago, she had been doing everything within her power to hold him at arm's length, just like they usually did to each other. Now, she was more than happy to have him within her personal space, within her own _home_. He'd seen the look of revulsion in her eyes, albeit only briefly, when he'd turned up unannounced at her Malibu home, but this was just as – if not, more so, - personal than that. She knew better than most just how much you could tell about a person based on their living quarters. If it wasn't for the lingering fear in her eyes, he would have found the shift in demeanor utterly nonsensical. But Teresa Lisbon was a woman who had paid the ultimate price to Red John and she clearly didn't want to go through that again. But then, who would? All she seemed to want was the knowledge that she had done as much as she could to protect him, unlike she had done so with her family. He tried to touch her shoulder for a second time but once again, she pulled away from the gesture. So, he contented himself with looking her deep in the eyes and this time, she managed to maintain the eye contact. He knew that she found attention disconcerting unless she was the one to instigate it and that was half the reason he was doing it.

"You do know I am at risk regardless of your involvement with the case or not, don't you?" he pressed and she nodded tentatively. "I am in charge of the investigation into his case; what better motive to kill is that? Despite the fact I have spent nearly two years chasing him, I know that the moment I get too close to him and he realizes... that's it. He'll kill me because I'll be too much of a liability for him."

"Where are you going with this Jane?" she asked.

"There's no need for you to keep pulling away; we have more of a chance of catching him as a team and that's what you want, right?"

"Why else would I be here?"

"Then if that's the reason you're here, you have to stop working against me and work with me instead. I don't just see you as a subordinate, Teresa. I _care_," he replied, keen to convince her that he truly meant it. "If you want me to stay with you tonight - and perhaps for even longer - then you have to let me in too."

"Fine," she answered shortly and he beamed at her. "Are you getting in or not?"

He complied willingly and she almost looked relieved. Jane wondered if she would actually pay any attention to his speech or just pretend to for the sake of getting her own way. Jane genuinely did see her as a friend and he had been sincere with what he said but that didn't necessarily mean she believed him. When it came to her relationships with others, Lisbon was the ultimate skeptic. However, she was worth the fight and her husband had clearly agreed, otherwise he'd never have married her. Still, time would tell whether or not she changed her ways. For now, all he could do was hope that she did.

On the way back to her townhouse, Lisbon drove quietly and sedately. She didn't complain when he fiddled with the radio, or when he opened and closed the window repeatedly. If anything, she acted oblivious to his presence, however hard he tried to distract her. The roads were quiet though; it was too late for there to be much traffic out. Despite the silence, Jane felt more comfortable this time around, and not just because he was occupying himself with silly activities either. He was beginning to feel more optimistic about both his breakthrough with Lisbon and the case. Vaguely, he wondered how their newest person of interest would react to questioning in the morning. He hoped that letting him stew overnight was the right decision. But then, the man had been easily unnerved just by Lisbon's presence. Being left alone in a cold cell would probably serve to make his mental strength even more fragile. The question remained why Red John had chosen such a character as a follower. Jane knew that his acolytes had to have a certain level of malleability; otherwise he would never have been able to mold them into the shape he required. However, there had to be a balance of mental strength and aptitude too, otherwise they risked telling all if - or when - they were apprehended by the police. But it wasn't really his problem; one of Red John's friends was in their custody and this was the greatest lead they'd had to the serial killer to date.

They pulled up in front of Lisbon's home and all thoughts of Red John quickly vacated Jane's mind. Instead, he had to face the reality of spending the night in Teresa Lisbon's company. She remained wordless as she vacated the vehicle and beckoned him inside. Just hours earlier, she had seen what state he lived in and now it was his turn. He smiled briefly; as far as he was concerned, that seemed perfectly fair to him. After all, she had been the one to freely admit that her sparse Malibu home wasn't representative of how she truly lived and naturally, that had only served to intrigue him further. Part of him doubted that Lisbon would agree with him; she probably just saw it as a necessary evil to keep him safe from Red John. Right now, that was the only thing she cared about.

"Nice place," he murmured in order to make conversation. "I like the paintings. Very autumnal."

"They belonged to the previous tenant; I haven't had much time to personalize the place," she answered back.

With a careful hand, Lisbon encouraged him to move away from the door and Jane instinctively stepped aside for her. He watched, interested, as she locked and bolted the door several times over. It didn't surprise him in the slightest that she was this security conscious. She had learned the hard way just what losses could be incurred if you didn't take necessary precautions. The cop inside of him was proud of her for that; he'd spent a lot of his younger years trying to educate people on how to keep themselves, their family and their belongings safe. It was a tedious chore to carry out, going into schools and doing the same talks over and over, but if it saved at least one life then it was a job worth doing. However, it was also a little too late; nothing would bring her family back. They were gone. But at least she was protecting herself. That was better than nothing.

But then, unlike Lisbon herself, Jane didn't think that Red John saw Teresa Lisbon as a potential victim in the slightest. It did more damage to somebody to kill their family rather than themselves as an individual. Instead, like he carved his followers from raw materials, it seemed like Red John was trying to carve himself a nemesis out of Lisbon. And she already knew how to use a gun; the question was just how far was she willing to go to get the closure she needed from the deaths of her husband and daughter? Regardless, if he killed her, then he wouldn't be able to continue toying with her for his own enjoyment.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked.

"You own tea? I thought you were strictly a coffee drinker?" he asked, joking.

She shrugged. "Buying it is a force of habit. My husband..."

Immediately she trailed off and Jane wished he could do something to help her. However, he felt paralyzed and the haunted expression on her face practically broke his heart. Her family had been killed approximately two years ago and yet, the woman standing in front of him was still broken. What she did - and continued to do - was remarkable, but for the most part, she wore a mask to protect herself from the real world. This was one of the few chinks in her armor that she had ever allowed him to see a glimpse of. Jane wished he could do something to make it all better for her; she deserved it more than anybody. However, there was only a finite amount of things he could do for her.

"Teresa, I'm..." he started, but he quickly trailed off.

"I know. I'm fine," she replied, but she sounded anything but fine. "Tea?"

"Yes please."

Jane watched as she fetched out two mugs and prepared herself a coffee alongside his tea. Eventually, she handed him his drink and he thanked her politely for it. Carefully, he wrapped his hands around the warm mug and took a long, grateful sip of the tea. It wasn't badly made, but it hadn't been prepared in the way he'd have preferred it to be, in the way that his mom had taught him before she'd died. Had it been anyone but Lisbon, Jane might have decided to complain. However, he was especially fond of Lisbon and had been since she had joined the team. In fact, he had actively fought Minelli for her position within the unit. Jane's supervisor had been dubious about having somebody so closely related to the Red John case so deeply embroiled in the investigation. Somehow, Jane had managed to convince him that nobody else would fight for the case quite so hard. As it was, it now seemed like Lisbon got along with Minelli better than even he did, and Virgil Minelli had been the sole person to fight in his corner for many years now. Regardless, there was no doubting just how much of a benefit that Teresa Lisbon was to the team and the CBI in general.

Jane watched as Lisbon yawned expansively. They had been sitting in a companionable silence just sipping at their drinks for at least half an hour. But now, it was clear that the day was really beginning to catch up with her, with them both, really. Even Jane felt particularly tired and he had been plagued by sleeping problems since his mom's untimely death. Without a word, Lisbon stood and instinctively, he followed suit. She led him upstairs and to her spare bedroom. It was little more than a study, with just a single bed and chest of draws serving as a bedside table inside, but Jane knew that it would be ample for him for a couple of nights or so. Lisbon had already made it clear that her guest room was rarely used, and thus, Jane wasn't surprised that she hadn't put much effort into furnishing it. But still, he wasn't going to let himself put her out for any longer than that; he knew Lisbon was a fiercely private individual who craved her own space. If he stayed with her for too long, then he would drive her to her wit's end.

"There is another comforter in the closet and some spare pillows too, if you need them," she eventually said and he thanked her for it. "And if you need anything else, just ask, okay?"

"I'm not going to disturb you, Teresa. This is already too much. I could have stayed where..."

She held up a hand to silence him and Jane clamped his mouth tightly shut. "I'm not going over this again, Jane. You know it makes sense. I'll see you in the morning."

Lisbon drifted off into her own room and closed the door tightly shut behind her. Jane briefly found himself wondering how the hell she had managed to subvert his authority so subtly on this occasion, but he cast the concerns aside. She was right, he did know it made some sort of sense, and that was why he had ultimately listened to her timely advice. The main reason he had fought back was because of his notorious stubborn streak and because predicting Red John and his behavior felt like it had the same odds as trying to predict the lottery numbers. On the vast majority of occasions, the odds were never going to be in your favor. That was why the statistics for the likelihood of winning the vast fortune were minuscule and why Red John remained at large. One day, he reminded himself, Red John would screw up. He was only human; he wasn't really as unpredictable as the lottery numbers.

Slowly he prepared himself for bed, keeping his gun close by at all times. Though he hated using it, he couldn't help but feel a little safer when he was armed. It gave him a chance to defend himself and those he cared about at the very least. It was only after he had brushed his teeth that he finally placed the firearm down on the bedside cabinet. Then, Jane carefully settled himself down on the bed and pulled the comforter up underneath his chin. It was time for his daily battle against sleep and being in a foreign bed, in a strange house and with company in just the next room too. He stared bleakly at the ceiling and his chest felt a little heavy with disappointment. An hour ago, he had been fighting against the natural instinct to fall asleep. Now he was alone in the peace and quiet of Lisbon's spare room, he was wide awake once again. The irony of this was never lost on him; he just wished that his insomnia would disappear and stop haunting his nights. It felt like a lifetime ago since he had last been able to sleep properly and in truth, it probably was. Even so, he still missed it. It was only natural that he did. Jane just wanted something to be normal in his life, like it had been when he was a kid. But then, it equally seemed like he had a propensity towards chaos, so he attracted the trouble anyway.

The sleep that seemed to have eluded him for hours eventually took over his whole body by two thirty a.m. It was only natural; he hadn't slept well for a long time and his body was in dire need of the rest. He couldn't fight the instinct, and as tired as he was, he couldn't be relieved by the development either. The restful sleep with peaceful dreams never came for Patrick Jane. Instead, the nightmares took over; much like they did every time he managed to fall into a deep sleep. They were the same each and every time he actually tried to rest. He watched the ball of fire enveloping his mom's old car, with her trapped inside. He stood on the sidewalk screaming for help, but nobody was willing to help the thirteen year old boy who was crying for him mom and his life. Jane hadn't actually witnessed the crash; he'd been tucked up in bed at the time, but his imagination had always fueled his nightmares. But so had reality; there was no escaping some aspects of his past. Jane was helpless and could only watch his dad cornering his three younger brothers and slowly pulling out the belt. He remembered the sound of leather cracking against their bare backs, as he tried desperately to intervene. Eventually, Alex Jane turned on his eldest son and used his fists to knock the living daylights out of him. He dreamed of waking up in hospital, with the smell of disinfectant cloying in the air. Then, he returned home to find his father hanging from the staircase by a makeshift noose made out of his own ties. Patrick Jane had buried both his parents by the time he was sixteen years of age.

It had been no life, back then, and he didn't care to remember it much now either, no matter how much it had colored him as an adult. Jane was proud of the fact he had managed to escape such a troubled past. He was also proud of the way his three brothers - Thomas, Daniel and Edward - had turned out in the long run. In a way, Jane knew that he had been partially responsible for their upbringing. After all, they had needed somebody to care for them and teach them the ways of the world after their parents had been laid to rest. But then, he also knew that they resented him for becoming the parental figure, Tommy especially. They hated the fact that he had left them as soon as they were old enough to make their own ways in the world and that he'd ran away to California of all places at the first suitable job offer. They also blamed him for the deaths of both parents as much as he blamed himself for it. If he hadn't contracted the winter vomiting bug, then their mom wouldn't have rushed out to the pharmacy to get some medication. She would never have been on the road and hit by the drunk driver. And thus, his dad wouldn't have turned into a desolate drunk and turned on his own kids as a result. As much as he had saved his brothers from a tragic history and taught them to be responsible adults, he had also been partially responsible for many years of misery.

The nightmares repeated over and over for approximately two hours. It was only when he was watching the fireball go up, hearing the crackle of the flames and seeing the smoke for the third time that he awoke, almost choking on the smoke that wasn't actually present in the room. Jane fumbled for his cell phone and for a second, he forgot exactly where he was. It was only when he had managed to get a hold of his phone and the light illuminated Lisbon's spare room that Jane remembered exactly where he was and why he was there in the first place. Then, he closed his eyes and took deep, long measured breaths in order to regain control of his breathing. Only when he felt fully in control once again did he vacate his bed and head downstairs. He needed a glass of water.

Jane was fully awake by the time he reached Lisbon's kitchen and more than a little surprised to see her already sitting at the breakfast bar nursing a cup of coffee. Without a word, Jane joined her and she smiled wryly at him. He wasn't surprised that she couldn't sleep either; she probably had as much as him – if not more – running through her mind at this moment in time. After pouring himself a cup of bottled water from the fridge, he carefully slipped onto the stool beside her before taking a measured sip of his drink.

"You couldn't sleep either?"

"No. I just want to get the questioning over and done with," she said by way of explanation.

He could understand that. As much as waiting to question their suspect about Red John drove the individual mad, it could also have the same effect on the people waiting to question him. Teresa Lisbon was one of many relatives of victims waiting for answers about Red John and his crime. As for Jane, it was his duty to put criminals behind bars. As thankless a job as it was, it wasn't about beating criminals, but about showing them that justice can win if they worked hard enough. It was human nature for people to fight and kill; humans were never satisfied with their lot. However, that didn't mean that that aspect of human nature wasn't morally abhorrent, though. It was a very complex situation and as a cop, Jane danced on that very fine line.

They didn't talk all that much over the process of finishing their drinks and eating breakfast. Briefly, Lisbon disappeared to take a shower, but Jane avoided prying as best he could. Instead, he indulged in the luxury of being left alone in her lounge and fingered through her book and CD collection. He wasn't surprised in the slightest when he found she had a quite eclectic taste, ever so slightly favoring jazz if anything. However, there was also a singular Spice Girls CD amongst the others, something which amused him immensely. The image of the straight-laced and utterly serious Teresa Lisbon bopping along to nineties pop music seemed like it just shouldn't work. Jane didn't mention it by the time she returned, however. Instead, he filed it away for later reference.

The journey to work once again was surprisingly tense. Jane knew that was because they both had the same thing on their mind. Today could well be the day when they finally got a big lead when it came to Red John. It was entirely possible that they could even find out identification, but he wasn't going to allow himself to get too hopeful. If Jane let himself get too carried away, then the rest of the team would too, and he had to be responsible at least some of the time. He had to show some leadership skills as senior agent, after all. Equally, at the same time, it was entirely possible that he was getting ahead of himself and the time alone had allowed the suspect to regain control of himself. Then, they would get nothing at all from him and be back at square one, proverbially speaking. This case could easily be his big break, but it could also bite him on the ass. And if he was having this many mixed feelings about the latest developments, Jane could only imagine how Lisbon was feeling too.

When they pulled up in the CBI parking lot, Van Pelt rushed to the car. The ashen look on her face immediately concerned Jane and he and Lisbon briefly shared a look of consternation. There were very few reasons for Grace Van Pelt to look quite so harried: either something had happened to Cho or Rigsby, or something had happened to their suspect. At this moment in time, Jane didn't know which prospect he liked least. When she confirmed that it was the latter, Jane was partially relieved. At least his team was okay and nothing had happened to them. But, this meant that their lead to Red John was quickly disappearing unless they hurried up.

Jane chased Van Pelt through the CBI buildings, and he knew that Lisbon was hot on their heels. He followed her down into the holding cells and the security guards, recognizing the three of them immediately, didn't even bother to stop them. There, breathless from the unexpected exertion, he stared into the suspects holding cell. It wasn't empty, as he'd vaguely suspected when he tried to listen to Van Pelt's nonsensical rambling. Instead, the suspect was frothing at the mouth, his eyes were rolling into the back of his head and his body was convulsing. According to Van Pelt, he had been in such a state for fifteen long minutes already.

He needed immediate medical attention, and even then, there was still the chance he wouldn't survive at all. Jane stepped aside and allowed medics, who had only just arrived on the scene, access to the cell in order for them to deal with their patient. He knew that he needed to allow them to do their job, just so that he would possibly be able to do his in the future. Even then, there were no guarantees. Jane glanced over his shoulder to peer at his consultant. She was clutching at the cross pendant she always wore around her neck, whispering Hail Mary's under her breath. If he were a religious man, he'd have been doing the exact same thing.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. I got the flu for my birthday and am only just getting better. Thanks to: Jane Doe51, Miss Peg and phoenixx87 for reviewing the past chapter.

x tromana

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

"You're going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep up that pacing, Teresa," Jane remarked lightly.

They were in his office, waiting for news. In lieu of actually doing anything constructive, Jane was lounging on the battered leather couch opposite the main entrance to the room. Lisbon didn't know where he got it from, and frankly she didn't care. It looked well past its best and she figured he had an unnatural affinity towards it. But then, that was just Patrick Jane all over. He had an inordinate amount of love for bruised and broken things; his car and Lisbon herself were testament to that. There had once been a time when it concerned her just how little he appeared to do during a typical work day. She had actually wondered just how Jane actually managed to keep up with all the paperwork that the job entailed. Then, she realized that he simply did it at night, when nobody else was about to disturb him. Jane was a chronic insomniac; he found it easier to rest during the day when people were around and could focus on the mundane tasks at night. As well as the insomnia, she wouldn't have been surprised if he suffered from separation anxiety too. That would explain why he found it far easier to do everything in reverse to what normal people did.

But for now, Jane and his idiosyncrasies were not the main issue of the day. Their suspect and sole lead to Red John was slowly slipping through their fingers. Lisbon knew that the doctors were fighting tooth and nail to save his life, but sometimes, that just wasn't enough. She clenched her fist and then relaxed it a couple of times. What she hated most was the sense of being out of control; that was another thing that was her father's fault. He had taken charge of her life and as a consequence, she now could not bear it when there was nothing she could do. And that was why she was currently pacing around Jane's office, unable to focus on anything else at all. It was why she was feeling so stressed and like her temper was going to get the better of her, if she wasn't careful. If they just knew, either way, then she would feel much better. Naturally, she would have preferred it if the man survived: they would then be able to discover more about Red John. However, closure either way would have been of some sort of use.

Of course, there was another, more important underlying issue with this specific Red John case. He knew, more or less, everything they knew about him and how he worked. Years of painstaking research had fallen into his possession and naturally, that meant he now had the upper hand. It was all because Jane had taken the abridged files outside of the CBI Headquarters that Red John had gotten hold of them. There was also the not so insignificant issue of precisely who had poisoned their suspect - a case which was quickly turning into a potential murder case. There was also the possibility that it was suicide; for a while, they hadn't been able to rule that out. However, before placement in holding cells, all suspects were patted down and forced to turn out their pockets in order to weed out potential evidence pertaining to their case, suicide drugs and weapons. Therefore, the obvious – and therefore, most probably correct - answer was most likely that Red John had a mole buried somewhere deep within the CBI.

However, CBI staff were rigorously examined prior to their hiring in order to weed out inappropriate people for the job. Even the lowliest of cleaners was subject to this kind of selection. This was to ensure that every single member of staff on the payroll could be entirely trusted with sensitive confidential information. Even Lisbon had gone through it and despite her murky past, which was mostly due to her father, she had gone through it clear. But this situation was unsettling. One of their number, most likely a security guard as they had the most regular access to the holding cells, was not to be trusted. Somehow, without triggering too much suspicion, they had to discover the identity of this person and question them before they slipped through their fingers. And that was precisely what Wayne Rigsby was working on at this moment in time.

But, it left her with nothing to do. Unless the paper trails brought up someone or something, then there was nobody for her to question or psychoanalyze. There was no crime scene for her to pick through, detail by detail. She just couldn't make the sharp observations which the team relied upon in some cases with no information whatsoever. In theory, she could have found something else to do, but her mind was so caught up that even Jane was noticing her behavior.

"I'm fine," she answered stiffly and she stopped pacing to stare him down briefly.

"Sure you are. Lisbon, you need to relax."

"This is Red John, Jane. I can't relax."

Jane looked at her skeptically but then, he promptly dropped it. Lisbon was glad; she hated having to explain herself to him, even though he _was_ her boss. Some things she just felt the need to keep fiercely private and she knew that he understood that. After all, he often reacted in exactly the same way to her. She couldn't help feeling the way she did about this case; anyone in her position would react in a similar way too. In fact, some would take it too far and make promises of vengeance and blood being spilled. As far as she was concerned, Jane should have considered himself lucky that his consultant was merely interested in justice. After all, it wasn't just her family who had died at Red John's knife, but many other people too. She couldn't justify to herself being so selfish and taking Red John's life for herself; every other family and friend of a victim of Red John's deserved closure just as much as she did. Then, there was the issue of her faith. The very thought of killing someone, even in response to their murder of her loved ones, repelled her. Part of the reason she volunteered her services to the CBI was in order to speed up the process for everyone afflicted by him.

Jane's cellphone rang, distracting Lisbon from her train of thoughts and she was glad of it. Sometimes, her mind took her to dark places, ones which she didn't really like to visit. She watched, somewhat warily, as he made a fuss about answering it. From what she could tell about the half of the conversation that she could hear, it was nothing to do with Red John or their seriously ill contact with him. Instead, it was either a D.A. requesting his time for some mundane meeting or, more likely, a new case which required their expertise. Jane looked grim as he bid the other person farewell and then he stood, stretching the muscles in his back as he did so.

"I have a distraction for you, come on," he instructed.

"New case?" she asked as they left his office in step with one another.

"New case," he echoed.

After rounding up the rest of the team, and giving them the details that he knew, including the location of the body, they were on their way. Somewhat reluctantly, Lisbon joined Jane in his Citroen - he couldn't even use one of the standard issue SUVs during working hours - despite her inherent dislike for the thing. There was something about Jane's demeanor since he had ended the phone call to the DA that had irked her and that was always bothering. She could tell that he didn't like something about this case; her curiosity meant that she had to work out precisely what. Of course, Jane was very often akin to a closed book, she knew that it would require some effort to ease it out of him. A journey in an enclosed space, with nowhere else to run, and just one another for company seemed like an opportunity too good for her to miss.

"You're not religious; why does a body in a church bother you so much?"

She only asked the question after they had indulged in a brief moment of inane chatter. Lisbon couldn't just throw him in at the deep end; it wasn't fair on him. Still, Jane shrugged noncommittally and kept his eyes firmly on the road. Their job took them to all manner of unusual locations and this one was no different. When she had heard that the body had been discovered in a Catholic Church during their brief meeting in the bullpen, she had expected Jane to be ambivalent about it. Anywhere could be a crime scene theoretically, and at the very least, it was something new. Still, churches weren't sacred spaces to him, not like her, and yet their reactions appeared to have been the reverse of what would have ordinarily been expected of them.

"I don't like churches," Jane said stiffly, confirming what she had already surmised.

"Why not?" she asked, curious.

"My mom was religious - deeply so - she..." The breath caught in his throat and he seemed unable to continue speaking. He shook his head and then he focused on the road again. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

But, he had already said more than enough for her to sink her teeth into it. Lisbon remembered. Before joining the CBI she had researched Patrick Jane as thoroughly as she could. She had read an article about the car crash which had taken his mother's life too soon. The woman had been running errands – picking up medication for a young Patrick Jane, specifically - and had apparently dropped by her church after she had finished. That was probably so she could offer up some prayers for her sick son. She had been on her way home from the church when she had died. That would have been enough to put him off going into one – he most likely associated her death both with himself and the church - and therefore, it was enough to quash any development of fledgling faith. As a Catholic herself, Lisbon found the concept of a young Patrick Jane's faith dying along with his mother deeply saddening. She used her religion to keep a grip on hope; it was something she had definitely inherited from her mother. For a short while, she had questioned religion and her beliefs and at that time, she had nearly lost everything, including her own identity. It was only upon rediscovering her faith that she had begun to mend the damage done by Red John.

And in part, that was another reason why she couldn't bring herself to kill Red John with her own bare hands. An eye for an eye, and soon, the whole world would be blind. Of course, if she assisted upon getting an airtight case and arresting Red John, it was highly unlikely that he would escape the death penalty, unless he claimed insanity. But, in her opinion, that was different. It wasn't her decision; it was how justice was served in the state of California. It had taken some effort, but she now found herself at peace with the concept. If it made potential murders give pause to the concept of what they were doing, then that was lives saved. And if people who had committed heinous acts died, and that helped people to move on with their lives, then so be it.

But for now, that was all irrelevant. There was another murderer for them to focus their attentions on. As much as she wanted to focus on Red John - especially with them being so close, and yet, far away from a lead - she couldn't. At least, not until there was either a development in the condition of their person of interest or until this new case had been closed. She shook her head to clear her thoughts; she was paid to do a job, ergo she was going to do it to the very best of her abilities.

The church was located in a sleepy suburb, but that hadn't stopped a gaggle of people from gathering on one side of the yellow tape that had been erected around the church. From the moment that Lisbon stepped out of Jane's death trap of a car, she could already hear the hushed whispering of the gossips. This was probably one of the most exciting things to have happened in this place for years. Still, both she and Jane ignored the furtive glances and the attempts to start conversation. Instead, they hopped over the tape and headed towards the church. Jane lingered for a second before he started to speak.

"You go on ahead. I'll talk to the first responders and wait for the others to arrive."

Lisbon nodded. She knew that this was Jane's way of delaying going into the building, but she didn't expand on it. It wasn't her place to push him into doing something he didn't want to do. Besides he was her boss and as eccentric as he was, she still felt compelled to respect him for it. So, she left him to talk to the young and inexperienced officers who had been first on the scene of the crime and headed inside by herself. She knew that Jane could trust her to do the right thing in a crime scene, without the need for a babysitter. Lisbon understood and respected the importance of evidence. Sometimes, she even paid closer attention to it than the cops she worked with.

The church was deathly silent but Lisbon didn't feel uncomfortable. Usually, she felt at home in churches, and especially so at this kind as it was Catholic. However, the silence was eerie this time around and she knew exactly why. After the first responders, who were milling around outside and talking to Jane, she was the first person to arrive at this crime scene. Automatically, she dipped two fingers into the holy water and made the sign of the cross. Then, she offered a silent prayer for the deceased. Some claimed that her religion was at odds with her abilities and what her father had taught her, but Lisbon had found peace in both of them a long time ago. It was only after she had finished with her prayers and respects that she headed towards the dead body. She needed to make sense of it all before there was too much interruption and noise from the others.

His eyes were closed and were it not for the fact he had been foaming at the mouth, he could have been sleeping. This man had been poisoned to death, and she wouldn't have been surprised if the same toxin had been used in each instance. Excepting the cross that hung around his neck, much like Lisbon's own, he was also naked. Though he had probably died within this building, Lisbon didn't think his current location or positioning was precisely where he had been killed. After all, how many people died with their arms and legs spread out, so that the body almost formed the shape of a star? Intrigued, she took a few more steps forwards and it was then that she noticed the rough patterns sketched along the floor. This was clearly the mark of a pre-planned murder, and one of somebody who most certainly knew what they were doing. The body was displayed in a decent facsimile of Leonardo Da Vinci's Virtruvian Man. Briefly, she smirked. A religious building and science intermingled together in the presentation of a dead body? If that wasn't a message, she didn't know what was.

Eventually, and as expected, the deathly silence was soon interrupted. In some respects, Lisbon was relieved. The quiet and solitude were slowly but surely beginning to get to her. As interesting as the body was, after she had taken her first looks at it, it was always far more useful to bounce ideas off of somebody to start to formulate ideas properly. Lisbon wheeled around on her heels to see Jane walking towards her with Grace Van Pelt not far behind. Briefly, Van Pelt lingered by the holy water, undecided as to whether or not to actually dip her fingers into it as Lisbon had done so some twenty minutes ago. Eventually, she appeared to decide to forgo the action and instead, looked skywards, with her eyes closed for a moment of quiet prayer. Lisbon knew that the younger woman was religious, but she wasn't the type to wear it on her sleeve; it was a more personal issue for her. Lisbon couldn't judge her for the decision to keep her religion fiercely private. Like Van Pelt, she didn't talk much about her beliefs to other people, but she did wear her mom's cross and paid her respects whenever she was in a religious building. But Van Pelt's behavior provided minor amusement; however, it was already time to cast those thoughts aside. They were here to do a job, not for her to psychoanalyze her work colleagues. That was something she could do (and _did_ do) in her own free time.

"What do you think?" she asked after Jane had taken a moment to regard the crime scene.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" Jane quipped with a smirk.

"Ha, very droll," she responded and smirked. "Well then?"

"It's definitely a message. Science and religion. The victim's name is Stefan Benton, 29, born and raised here in Sacramento," Jane said, filling in the gaps in her knowledge about the victim. "He recently started working as a pastor here, but previously studied for a degree with a major in human biology. Then, he 'saw the light' and ended up here."

Jane gestured to the naked body lying prone in front of them and the dry tone in his voice was unmistakable. Despite being fully aware of his subordinates' beliefs, he still seemed to find it virtually impossible to show any respect towards religion of any sort and his disdain wasn't purely reserved for Christianity either. Lisbon had quickly learned to ignore his jibes but that didn't necessarily mean that Van Pelt would be able to learn to react in the same way. As a cop she was still very green behind the ears and as a person, Lisbon had immediately had the impression that she was quite the sensitive soul. Eventually, though, she would be fine. It would just take some time for her to develop that thick hide that the rest of them had. In a way, Lisbon was lucky. Her background had made her tenacious and tough; the very worst had already happened to her. Now, she was far more cynical than even she would have liked, but it did help, especially when she considered just how doubtful people were of her and her skills. Her concern for Van Pelt was confirmed when she glanced in her direction and saw the hurt expression on her face. Maybe later she would have a word with her. Despite his achievements in his career, Patrick Jane would never be famed for his tact.

"Where is your God now?" Lisbon murmured and she took a deep breath. Jane stared at her quizzically as he waited for her to extrapolate on the statement. After all, considering her beliefs, they were words that he would never have expected to hear from her mouth, she knew that. In the end, she gave up and filled in the blank spaces for him. "That's the message. Religion couldn't save him, even in a place of worship. Science is perceived to be grounded on solid fact."

"But everything is theoretical until proven otherwise?"

"Yes, but that isn't the killer's point. They want to prove that science is superior to religion, hence the portrayal of the body."

"But Da Vinci was a pious man," Jane added.

"Yes, but he valued reason above his faith," Lisbon corrected him automatically. "That's what makes this ironic. Or, it's just a cover up; trying to frame science when religion is the core issue here."

"And which do you think it is?"

"That is what we need to find out," she answered back firmly.

She began to walk out of the church; she had seen everything she needed to see and they needed to leave so that forensics could do their thing. Lisbon was acutely aware of getting in the way; sometimes she still felt like a fraud whenever she was at a crime scene. That was most likely because of how she had felt every day prior to her family's death, as a psychic. However, before she could leave, she was stopped by Van Pelt who was edging nervously out of Benton's office. She looked remarkably unsure about what she was meant to do, however, that was because she was still trying to find her feet in the job. Less than two weeks since she had started her position, and she had already had to assist in a copycat Red John case and then, the real thing. It was little wonder that her head was still in a spin.

"Lisbon? I need your opinion on something."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow in surprise but nodded anyway. Theoretically, Van Pelt should have headed straight to her boss if she had found something, but instead she had chosen to approach her. Lisbon surmised that that probably had something to do with the fear of wasting Jane's precious time. Though they all worked incredibly hard, her job mostly involved looking at things and giving her opinion on it. Therefore, it was well within her remit to assist Van Pelt on this issue. In all likelihood, had she approached Jane first, he would have merely come straight to her anyway. Remaining mute, Lisbon followed her straight into the office. Clearly, they weren't done at the church yet.

Barring the fact that the chair had been knocked to one side and a pot of stationary had been scattered over the floor, the room had been kept immaculately. Van Pelt immediately led Lisbon to the desk where a pile of accounting papers laid neatly in the middle. Lisbon wandered around the desk, careful not to disturb anything and then started flicking through them while Van Pelt lingered awkwardly to one side. It was clear that the church had major financial issues; there were huge holes all over the place. In some respects, it was understandable. Modern life made people believe church was less of a necessity. Therefore, there was less income into the church. However, even from a brief glance, Lisbon could tell there was money disappearing where it clearly shouldn't have been. Somebody had been fiddling with the books. The question was who? Regardless of whether or not it was their victim, it provided them with a viable motive for his death. Either he was responsible and somebody had taken their petty revenge, or he had discovered who was doing it and they had used murder as a cover-up. It seemed entirely foolish in Lisbon's eyes; theft drew far less attention than murder.

Then, her eyes were drawn to the pale white mug that had been placed to one side of the table. The slogan 'I believe!' was cheerfully displayed on one side, along with the name of the church and a picture of it. It was half filled with black tea, with a splash of milk in it. And, she immediately suspected, a splash of poison of some variety. This was their murder weapon, she was certain of it. Without another word, Lisbon swept out of the room and headed straight towards Patrick Jane. They needed to start interviewing family and friends of the victim. His work colleagues needed questioning too, as she already had a feeling that the killer would be amongst them. The mug needed sending off for fingerprinting and contents examination as soon as possible too. To finalize details in a court case, that kind of evidence was usually far more important than anything that she could ever do.

Jane was on the phone when she approached and he was clearly unhappy. Instinctively, Lisbon knew it was nothing to do with the murder location. Since he had gotten engrossed in examining the dead body itself, he had acclimatized to the place. This call was clearly not good news. Lisbon hung back while he bade the caller farewell and it was only then that she decided to approach him. However, she didn't actually need to hear the words he was preparing to tell her. She could read it in his every expression.

"I'm sorry, Teresa. He passed away an hour ago."

He didn't even need to tell her the name, either. Naturally, she had empathy for the fact a man had passed away, but more selfish reasoning quickly surfaced too. She had so much hope for this lead and yet, Red John had most likely just slipped through their fingers again.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I am so sorry for the major delay in updating. Depression is really dragging me down. I will try to get better, but some things are still hard for me right now. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter. I really appreciate it.

x tromana

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**Chapter Eight**

Jane watched as his consultant clenched her fist several times in frustration. It was almost as if she wanted to punch something (or someone) in her frustration. He was glad that he already knew her well enough to know she was capable of controlling her temper and venting out her frustrations in an appropriate manner. At least, usually that was the case. There had been moments that he had seen her tip over the edge, so he could only hope that she would remain in control in this moment. She tried to keep her breathing as even as possible, but even he could tell that this was a blow that she absolutely did not need. After all, Jane was a detective too; he knew how to read people, he had to as a part of his job. Otherwise, how was he supposed to break criminals during interrogations? Of course it was an established fact that Lisbon was better at reading people than he was, but that was only because she had different skills and training in her arsenal. He couldn't be offended by that; had their roles been reversed, he would have the skills that she did, but he would also have probably reacted very differently to what had happened to her. Sometimes, he believed it was close to a miracle that she was so willing to fight for justice instead of petty revenge. Teresa Lisbon, generally, had learned from the hardships of her past. They colored the person she was today, that was obvious, but she didn't use her experiences in a destructive manner.

Some people would claim that he did the exact opposite. To this very day, he still had issues coming to terms with what his father had done to his family after his mother's death. Alex Jane had immediately turned to drink and all four of his young sons; he had forgotten what it was like to be a family man. His whole world had collapsed after his wife had died; Jane knew he couldn't blame him for that. However, the destructive manner that he had turned to had damn near killed the whole Jane family, and left one of his younger brothers severely ill. It was an accident, he remembered his father claiming. I didn't push him down the staircase, he tripped. 'Tripped' and he had almost ended up paralysed from the waist down. Through years of persistence, Daniel had miraculously made a full recovery, but it was not quick enough. Soon after, Daddy Jane committed suicide and left them to fend for themselves. For a long while, Jane denied having any resemblance to his father, but sometimes when he looked in the mirror it was all too clear. Virgil Minelli had been one of the few men brave enough to point out Patrick Jane's destructive streak to him and some days, it became more and more obvious that he really was his father's son.

He shook his head violently and reached out to touch Lisbon gently on the arm with two fingers. She pulled away from the gesture; a clear sign that she wanted to bear this burden on her own. Lisbon really was a martyr to her cause; since her family had died, and since she joined the CBI, she had thrown herself into her position as a consultant. She practically lived for the job. Jane noted that it was incredibly unhealthy, but who was he to judge? He wasn't all that much better when it came to balancing his career and his social life. In fact, some people would claim that it was apparent he was trying to screw up the both of them, one way or another. Even when it came to a very specific case - Red John - Jane wanted the bastard dead almost as much as Lisbon did. The sole difference was that Lisbon had a personal reason for it, whereas it was in Jane's line of duty that he aimed for such a target.

"There's nothing we can do," he murmured gently and she shook her head. "But there is for this man."

"He's still dead. We can't bring them back from that, even if we do arrest the killer."

"We can bring about closure. Get justice for the family involved. You know that better than most."

"But Red John..." she said, trailing off.

"Next time," Jane answered back firmly.

"Next time," she scoffed, echoing him sarcastically. "That's almost as bad as saying tomorrow. Because you know what, Jane? Tomorrow never comes."

She stormed out of the church, but Jane didn't dare follow her. He needed to give her space to cool off and recollect her thoughts. Once she had come to terms with the blow that had just been delivered to them, she would be back to her focused and determined self. She would stop parroting the claims he made about how little benefit their job brought, comparatively speaking, and remember just how important closing cases was for the relatives and friends of the deceased. It served them justice, it meant they could move on without questioning who, or what was responsible for their loved one's death. That was something he and his father never got with regards to his mother. The drunk driver who had killed his mom - and nearly destroyed the entire Jane family as a consequence - had managed to flee the scene of the crime before the police got anywhere near them. It was a classic hit-and-run job. And ultimately, that was what sent his father over the edge; the questions, the simply not knowing. It was what had inspired Patrick Jane himself to become a cop and he knew it was the reason why Teresa Lisbon had offered her services to the CBI shortly after her family had been slaughtered by Red John.

But for now, Jane knew he couldn't worry about that. Instead, he rounded up Van Pelt, who had just finished up taking photographs of the office and they headed outside. Lisbon was waiting by his beautiful blue Citroen, just as he expected her to be. Her arms were crossed and she was staring pointedly at the ground; a classic defensive position. But then, she probably needed to feel like she could be protected from the world. Underneath all of her false bravado was an incredibly vulnerable woman, haunted by her demons and only a few steps away from losing everything altogether. And that was a dark and lonely route to go down; Jane knew that from experience. It was why he could see it whenever he looked into Lisbon's honest eyes. There must have been a time when she was capable of masking that honesty; otherwise, how would she have been able to fool people into believing that she was a psychic? But that wasn't his issue; in reality, he was genuinely glad that he had the opportunity to get to know her. Who wouldn't have been? He just wished that it hadn't occurred under such tragic circumstances. However, it was what it was and they merely had to make do.

"I'm sorry," she murmured as he approached. "I overreacted. It was wrong of me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Teresa."

"Jane..."

She eyed him seriously and Jane always knew that it was a warning sign to stop it. Once again, he found himself incredibly intrigued by what she was like when she was a practicing psychic. The only thing he'd ever had the opportunity to see of her in 'the act' was the interview she had given on the fateful day that her family had died. It had been blindingly obvious just how uncomfortable she had been during that interview, even to him. But even so, considering her previous career path, she had an awful lot of tells and could be read openly. But then, that had probably proved to be beneficial in some sort of way. After all, the honesty in her eyes made her appear exceedingly more trustworthy than somebody who was presented like a closed book. From personal experience, he knew that some relatives of victims sometimes found it awfully difficult to trust whether or not he would actually be able to close the case that was most important to them. He couldn't help being the way he was; he had learned that weaknesses were something that could be taken advantage of. As a consequence, he had always kept his cards close to his chest. Jane liked to think it actually made him a better cop. After all, it meant that perpetrators could never know what he was thinking until he was pouncing on them and making the arrest. However, as beneficial as it was in that respect, it still proved a stumbling point when connecting with the other victims - the family - of the deceased.

But, as far as he was concerned, that was what made them an impressive team. Of course, Lisbon held herself away from him, mostly to protect herself, but Jane knew they complimented one another well. She was exceptionally good with people and had an eye for the detail that he sometimes missed. His mind was constantly focusing on the cases in hand and Lisbon always helped him to fill in the gaps. Meanwhile, he also had an uncanny ability to use her expertise to its very best and trick the criminals into hanging themselves, as it were. Sometimes, things went wrong, but in general, their closed case record had only skyrocketed and Virgil Minelli was pleased with that. However, he also knew that he was less than pleased with some of the other effects it had had on Jane's performance.

Since Lisbon had joined his team, Jane had taken it upon himself to impress her. He saw her as a worthy challenger; somebody whose skills he could actually compete with. Therefore, it made him take more risks, use more cunning and the like in order to close cases. When he managed to work out something almost as soon as Lisbon did, he was pleased. If, for some reason, he managed to figure out their murderer before she had, then it was only natural that he had to rush to make the arrest too. Jane knew that the courts had a field day trying to pick apart the messes he made, but Minelli always found cause to defend him. Sometimes, Jane wondered if, before dealing with a telephone call from an irate D.A., Minelli had to repeat the mantra 'he closes cases' several times before wading in. After all, they were words that Jane had heard his boss say more than several times in the past.

Jane knew that he was an unusual cop, but Lisbon was an even more unusual consultant. Sometimes, she seemed to have more of a 'cop-like' persona than actual cops did. It was probably some sort of coping mechanism, her way of trying to fit in. But she was always the one to take the most care not to disturb the forensic evidence, or to make sure she was wearing gloves before handling something in a crime scene. On regular occasions, he found her deep in conversation with a medical examiner, talking details about death. This was probably her way of learning on the job; he couldn't blame her for that. When he'd first started on the job, working under Samuel Bosco, he had absorbed as much as he could, like a sponge. But then, his behavior meant that Jane found himself butting heads with his superior on regular occasions and that caused friction. In the end, Bosco himself had recommended that Jane applied to join the California Bureau of Investigation, because they had a more 'open minded' view to fighting crime than the San Francisco Police Department ever would have. Bosco's call had been sound,and since then, Jane had been grateful to the man for being able to forward his career in such way.

But for now, he had a case to deal with and a clearly disappointed consultant to cheer up. The case, he knew, would provide them both with an ample distraction. That wasn't to say he didn't stand by his words of 'next time'; he did. However, they couldn't do anything until they had new evidence. Unfortunately, that also included waiting until Red John struck again.

"Okay, but we're going to talk about this later," Jane said in a serious tone, very unlike his usual demeanor. Reluctantly she nodded and he felt a wave of relief wash over him. It was enough for him to accept that as her acquiescing to his request. Besides, he wasn't just concerned for her as her boss, but as a friend too. Despite the friendly competition, and the fact that they often argued like cat and dog over the silliest of things, he genuinely did care deeply about her. "Did you find anything in the office?"

"Yes. The accountancy books have been fiddled with. Either by the victim, or one of his colleagues, and the victim realized it and was killed for his discovery. It's more likely to be the latter. The work colleagues need to be the priority with interviewing."

Quickly, Jane turned to face Van Pelt. Cho and Rigsby had just joined them, after finishing canvassing the area for any unusual sightings. Swiftly, and as Lisbon suggested, he asked that they go and interview Benton's work colleagues. They agreed immediately, with Van Pelt and Cho drifting back in the direction of the church to talk to the few who were still there and Rigsby heading back to the headquarters to continue their research. Without another word, Jane indicated silently to his car and both he and Lisbon climbed in. He didn't need to tell her where they were going; it was routine that now, they took the time to go and interview the family. He hated telling the relatives of the deceased that they had lost a loved one, and he hated seeing the ghost of remembrance in Lisbon's eyes with regards to how she discovered her family too. But it was something that they had to honor and besides, it always provided them with ample information to work with and usually, several leads to follow up too.

The journey was deathly silent and Jane didn't like that. Occasionally, he fiddled with his radio in order to fill it, but really, he still had to concentrate on the road ahead. And even he eventually grew irritated by the irregular stream of dull music. Besides, his car was too precious to him to risk writing it off over something that was little more than boredom. Occasionally, though, he stole furtive glances at Lisbon, just to check how she was holding up. His concern for her was running increasingly deeper; while it sometimes took a little effort to get her talking, she was never usually this quiet. That, naturally, left his alarm bells ringing and as a consequence, it annoyed him greatly. There was nothing he liked less than not knowing, especially when it came to Teresa Lisbon. Everything about her was too fascinating for him not to be lured into her. At this moment, she was staring aimlessly out of the passenger side window, not really focusing on anything at all.

It didn't take a psychic - fake, or otherwise - to realize that her mind was being taken up entirely by thoughts of Red John and her family.

Jane frowned; she had to know that she wasn't the only one who was passionate about the case, didn't she? That talking about it with anyone – with him, specifically – would help them close the damn thing faster? After all, a problem shared was a problem halved. Most people viewed his desire to close the case as being the simple fact that it would be his career-maker. However, that couldn't have been too much further from the truth. In reality, Jane was pleased with how far he had gotten in his career, pleasantly surprised even. It was a wonder that he had managed to make it this far at all. He was distinctly aware that any more power would be too corrupting for him and he didn't go searching for it as a consequence. Besides, his style of investigative work wasn't suited to a more senior position; too much paperwork, not enough crime fighting was involved with that. He called his methodology unorthodox. Almost everyone else he knew chose to label it as utterly crazy. It didn't change the fact that he was a good cop. Merely, he was just a little unusual compared to everyone else in the CBI. But why would he even want to be normal when he could be different, anyway?

The interview with the relatives was as productive as could be expected. The family was naturally tearful, and the mother especially so. It was understandable, given the fact they had just lost their only child, something which he imagined that Lisbon could relate to wholeheartedly. She took control, much like she always did in these circumstances and Jane was grateful for it. Especially so as she seemed to have been capable of putting the Red John issues completely to one side and had gotten on with the task in hand. Then again, with Lisbon, he knew that he couldn't expect anything less. She was utterly professional and took her job very seriously. That was the main reason why she had been such an exemplary consultant for the CBI - and why Virgil Minelli had been especially keen to keep hold of her. Most consultants that assisted the CBI tended to be more like the loose cannons that didn't have a clue what the hell they were really doing or caused far more trouble than they were worth. They were usually more like him, really. Jane didn't find this especially offensive; he knew it was just a statement of truth. And so long as he kept closing cases, and kept charming the public, he knew that he had a job with the CBI. Minelli continued to assure him that, ultimately, he was worth all the paperwork that came with him. He closed cases. And that applied even more so since he had been paired up with Teresa Lisbon.

Unfortunately, apart from breaking the dreadful news that their son had been killed - and in a church, no less - talking to the family brought up little else. Like most of these situations, the parents were wearing rose-tinted glasses and refused to see fault in their child. Being devout Christians, who had been relieved that their son had found religion once again, they also refused to speak ill of the dead. This always made their job that little more difficult. However, he also knew precisely how to read between the lines, and Lisbon did even more so. After they were finished here, she would tell him exactly what she had thought of Mr. and Mrs. Benton and not a moment sooner. She refused to be rude to these people, even if they were concealing something that could have been useful. As far as she was concerned, it was disrespectful and impolite, and not to mention the simple fact they had just received the worst possible news. They didn't deserve to be burdened with anything else. Jane, meanwhile, knew that he didn't have the same censor and if he saw something disconcerting in what they were saying (or what they were _not_ saying), then he was always the first to point it out.

Eventually they found themselves bidding farewell to the family and were back in his car. Jane still felt the need to talk to Lisbon about Red John; it was an important subject and he wasn't sure if she had really come to terms with the blow of losing their lead. This current case, of course, was important too, but her mental state was even more so. How could she operate and carry out her job to the very best of her ability if her mind was too busy lingering elsewhere? Lisbon was very good at putting a brave face on and you really had to know her in order to tell there was an underlying issue going on underneath. The Benton family would have been too wrapped up in their own grief to realize this. He, meanwhile, could tell it just by looking at the slightly saddened expression which she hadn't been able to cover up in the slightest. He may not have been relentlessly taught how to read people's tells, but that didn't mean he couldn't do it if he knew them well enough.

"You okay?" he asked when she sat back down in the car.

"Really, Jane?" she asked, surprised that he was even returning to that subject again. "You know I'm okay. I told you earlier that I was fine."

"Except you're not," he replied lightly.

"Would you be?"

He shook his head. "I'm not either."

It wasn't a lie. He took every murder by Red John very personally. The fact that they would most likely have to wait until he killed again was almost like a personal insult to him and his capabilities. There was nothing they could do at this moment in time and that was especially frustrating. Worse, on a daily basis he could see the damage that Red John had done to Teresa Lisbon. Jane was certain that she had never deserved to have her family slaughtered just because she had appeared on a TV show. She certainly didn't deserve it as it was obvious she'd been reluctant to answer questions about Red John at the time; the stupid interviewers had pushed her into it. Jane had watched the tape of that interview more times than he cared to admit; he found it galling that Red John had taken a personal insult to something when she hadn't been the one at fault. Nobody deserved that. Not one individual deserved to have their life stolen away from them because somebody chose it to be so.

But then, he knew that he would think that. He was clearly biased; he was to anybody he cared about. His team had always been very near the top of that list, along with his three younger brothers. If anything ever happened to them, he knew that it would easily push him over the edge. He'd already lost too many people in his life as it was. Then, life seemed like a constant routine of meeting people, getting to know them and then losing them. Nothing was stable, and nothing ever would be. Clinging onto his job and giving other people the hope that the right thing would be done provided him with his only sense of stability. Sometimes, Jane found himself wondering if he actually had the mental capabilities to do his job. Sure, he'd passed all the appropriate tests, but test results could easily be faked.

"Jane..." she said quietly, with a hint of pleading in her tone.

"Fine," he said; she didn't need to say anymore for him to realize she was still reluctant to have 'that talk' about Red John. "What did you think about Benton's family? Is there anything we need to investigate there?"

"No," she confirmed immediately, just like Jane had suspected. She also sounded immeasurably relieved that he had promptly changed the subject at her (almost) unspoken behest. "They are a family who are genuinely grieving for their loved ones. The only thing they believe they have to feel guilty about is the fact they helped him get that job in the church. They encouraged him to drop the Human Biology he'd been specializing in and retrain as a man of the church."

"You worked that out from what they were saying?"

"No photograph of his graduation, but several of him in uniform at the church. It's just common sense really."

She shrugged her shoulders and Jane sighed. Not that he wanted the family to be guilty, but it would have been nice if they could have gotten a solid, easy lead out of it. Still, it was never that easy. If it was, there would have been no need for highly specialized individuals such as himself fighting crime. There would have been no need for messy court proceedings after, either. Even so, all he could do was hope that the rest of his team was having more luck with the work colleagues of Stefan Benton. Although he had appreciated having Lisbon around during the family interview - he always did because he could freely admit that she had far superior people skills than he did - he couldn't help but think her talents were wasted there. Sure, she could tell him that the mother partially blamed herself for her son's death, but that wasn't all that impressive. Almost any mother in her situation would have felt that way, even if it was just a series of random events that had resulted in her child's death. Really, she should have been with the rest of the team; the people she would have met in the church would most likely have proven far more difficult reads. There was something that Jane simply hadn't been able to trust about religious figures ever since his old priest had visited him in hospital after that dreadful car crash to inform him that his mom had 'gone onto a better place.'

He couldn't believe the man now. He couldn't believe what any one of them would say about any given subject or situation. Like anything else, the church was a business: out to make money. They were worse than what Lisbon did in his opinion. At least she had offered people hope during her old day job, and it came direct from her. And he could also tell that it had never been something that her heart was truly in. She'd hated the deceit and lies and only had carried out the job at her father's behest. Priests and parsons and other individuals deeply embroiled within the church were only interested in lining their own pockets. Their lies also came on a far greater magnitude; Lisbon had merely told people what they had already known for themselves. He doubted that she had truly been able to see it that way, especially after her husband and daughter were murdered. Since then, she had probably only seen the catastrophic damage that 'lying' for a career could cause.

His cellphone started ringing and automatically, he tossed it to Lisbon to answer. He didn't like speaking on the phone when driving; he thought it was an unnecessary risk. It was always far better if drivers kept both eyes on the road; carelessness cost lives. But that was a lesson that very few people bothered to heed; mostly because, unlike him, they hadn't learned the hard way. They hadn't lost somebody they loved so dearly - or come incredibly close to losing their own life - in a preventable car crash. The idiot that killed his mom should never have been on the road if he'd been drinking, as the officers had presumed in lieu of actually catching the bastard. People shouldn't use cellphones while driving when it caused a distraction from the more important task in hand.

"Rigsby thinks he's got something. He wants us to get back to the office and check his paper trails," Lisbon said when she bid the caller farewell.

"Good," Jane confirmed. "Because that's where I wanted to head anyway."

The fact that Lisbon refused to respond said more than anything she could have said. She knew exactly what he meant by that, and sometimes, that was half the problem with having a conversation with her. Lisbon could second-guess him all the time, and was always attempting to avoid certain subjects. Of course, her eyes gave her away on occasion, but that was never enough to tell him what she was really thinking. He needed to know what was going on in his subordinates' minds in order to know how to lead them effectively. And of course, he just liked to know because it made his team more close-knit and more like a family. Being so distant from his blood relatives made him all the more appreciative of having people he could truly trust nearby.

Soon enough, they were back in the headquarters and heading up to the third floor. As promised, Rigsby thrust some files into their hands from the very moment that they reached the bullpen. Briefly, he explained to them both what he had discovered and Jane thanked him for his hard work. With that, Rigsby disappeared straight back to his computer to keep digging. He didn't need to be told twice what to do, without Kimball Cho or especially Grace Van Pelt to distract him. Jane turned to face Lisbon after he left, instructed her to head straight to his office and wait there. As expected, the reluctance in her eyes had returned, but he knew she wouldn't disobey a direct order. Lisbon wouldn't disobey _any_ order from him, which was more than could be said for Cho, for example. She'd question it, sometimes ask not to do it, but ultimately, she would listen every single time.

He hummed gently to himself as he prepared two hot drinks in the kitchenette – a coffee for Lisbon, and a tea for himself, naturally. He stared pensively at the cabinets in front of him as he dipped the teabag in his mug several times, in order to speed up the stewing process. All he could do was hope that he could get Lisbon to open up this time around – 'third time's the charm' was something his aunt had always said to him while he'd been growing up, and he tended to believe that. Eventually, he picked up the mug and his favorite blue teacup and headed through to his office. Lisbon was sitting in front of his desk with her legs neatly crossed and hands resting on her lap. She smiled weakly as he handed her the cup of coffee and he settled himself down on his leather couch.

"Join me," he said and she shook her head. "C'mon Teresa, you know I don't bite."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine."

"So…"

"So, now you want 'that talk', don't you?"

"Yes, I do," he confirmed.


End file.
